New York Minute
by editor frog
Summary: When a PI goes missing in Chinatown, the CSI's learn that there's more at stake than meets the eye...
1. Chapter 1

**Hello all. I hope you enjoy this little tale I'm about to begin, and please let me know how you like it! Usual disclaimers, plus keep in mind that this is my first story for this fandom. :)

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The only thing that was thicker than the blackness that surrounded her was the stifling heat that threatened to suffocate her. A pair of green eyes fluttered back to life, and a mop of black hair rustled against something soft as she tried to fight off the dense fog that hung behind her eyes.

_Where am I?_ she wondered. _And how did I get here?_ The fog wasn't helping her recover that particular bit of information, and she continued to flutter her eyelids in an attempt to fight it off. Turning slightly, she tried to pick up her hands only to find they had been bound behind her back.

_Packing tape,_ she realized. A quick tug on the bonds confirmed that. She felt the sticky, cloth-like substance with the very tips of her fingers, layered probably three or four times. The reinforcing twine that made the substance great for securing packages closed was also doing a hell of a job keeping her in place.

The blackness didn't subside, though the fog had lifted just enough for her to make out a thin ray of light that drew a line down one part of the farthest wall from where she lay. The woman tried to pick her feet up, only to hear an unwelcome _clang_ resound as she did so. Closing her eyes, she had to work to feel the metal bracelets that were now acting as an anchor encircling her ankles. _Explains where those went,_ she thought.

The realization that her handcuffs had been used against her made her take notice, and from her position she tried to take inventory of what else was either missing or available. The woman rolled her hips, searching for something in her pockets, but those were picked clean. _Phone's gone, and so's my Benchmade,_ she realized. _Terrific._

Heaving deep breaths, she tried to speak, but her only reply was a strange muffled sound that was trying to escape her lips. Her mouth had felt cottony and dry, but she'd blamed that on the 'enforced nap.' As her senses came about, she realized that someone had gagged her with a cloth of some sort and more packing tape.

_Shit,_ she thought. _Ambushed, caught, and trussed up like a turkey. Brilliant, Chase. Well done._

The too-warm air was beginning to overpower her, and the remnants of whatever had been forced into her lungs as she'd screamed for help earlier made Chase realize that she would lose the battle with sleep. _Gotta stay awake,_ she said. _Focus. How am I getting out of here?_

The woman tried to sit up, but her bound hands and her vantage point on what she thought was a bed of some sort was making that goal hard to accomplish. The bed was in the middle of the room she occupied, and it left her with no wall nearby to push herself against as leverage. Chase tried to use the headboard as a shove-off point, but her chained legs wouldn't allow her to reach that far.

_Damn,_ she thought. Her bright green eyes stared at the ceiling—or what she _thought_ was the ceiling—and her mind began to race. The thin beam of light that teased her ever so slightly served as both hope and a subtle warning. _I don't know who might be out there,_ she reminded herself.

As the fog continued to slowly lift, Chase tried vainly to piece together the fragments of memory that added up to her waking up to this small, dark, makeshift prison she was currently trapped in. The memories were slow in coming.

-----

"Nosy bitch."

"Eddie, man, did you catch that piece she had on her?"

"Yeah," a stocky man said, pulling out a well-kept H&K that the young man had found on the woman being held in the back bedroom. "Nice, eh?"

"Man, not the word for it. Modified clip, built-in silencer…that thing's _dangerous._" The word was uttered almost as a compliment. "What's a woman doing carrying something like that?"

Long fingers began pulling through the items that had been 'liberated' form the woman's pockets. "Couple quarters, couple dimes, receipt for something…" As soon as the long fingers reached a thin black wallet, they prized the item open, hoping to find a few bills that might make taking her worthwhile. Once open, however, those fingers nearly dropped the wallet in surprise. "Oh, _shit!"_

"What?"

"She's a cop!"

"Nah…really?"

"Look, idiot," the man with the long fingers—Eddie—said sharply. "Says so right here." He held up the black wallet, making sure the item in question was plainly visible. "License and everything."

"Cops got badges, not licenses," Eddie's companion said sharply. Snatching the wallet out of Eddie's hand, he examined the card embedded in the wallet further. "She's a PI," he said finally.

"What's a PI doing sniffing around us?" Eddie asked.

"Good question," his companion said. "Let's find out."

-----

The sudden rush of light blinded her, catching the woman off-guard as she tried to reconcile the brilliant rays of phosphorescence assailing her eyes all at once. The sound of heavy footsteps assailed her ears, and she turned her head slightly to try and get a look at who was holding her.

"Hey," one of the men snapped, the word following a few light slaps to the face. "The hell you doing, following us?"

Chase's eyes furrowed in confusion. "I wasn't…" she started to say, before the muffled grunts and whines made her realize she would be unintelligible. As soon as she sighed in frustration, long fingers reached over and grabbed the tape covering her mouth, ripping it off so hard that Chase's face burned. The woman winced in pain, quickly trying to shove the dry cloth out of her mouth. "I…I wasn't…" she said, her voice hoarse.

"Bullshit. You were right there, watching us the whole time," the man said, his tone stubborn and determined. Grabbing a handful of black hair from the bed, he yanked Chase's head a few inches off the mattress. "Now, what were you doing there?"

"Watching someone else," she said simply. "I have no idea who you are!"

"You buy that, Eddie?" the man asked, he voice carrying a trace of mockery to it.

"I dunno, Mike," a slightly younger voice responded. "There was a lot going on today out there…"

"Ehh," 'Mike' said, tossing Chase's head roughly back onto the thin mattress. "Well, we'll see, won't we?"

"Wh-what?" Chase mumbled. The drugs were still working their way out of her system, and she was trying to push through the lingering fog that remained.

"We've got business, and you're going stay with us a while, just to make sure it goes through smooth, catch me?" 'Mike' said slowly, as though Chase were a very young or very stupid child. "Now, you going to be nice?"

"Just let me go," she said quietly. "I'll forget you exist."

The reply earned Chase a hard slap to the face, and she felt the rough cloth being forced back into her mouth again. "Guess we'll do this the hard way," 'Mike' said simply. "I'd think awhile about being nice, girlie. Wouldn't want you to get hurt with this thing here." Chase's eyes widened as she saw her prized 'Hector' being waved right under her nose.

_Oh, shit,_ she thought in despair. _They've got my gun…_

-----

--She's not answering her phone.—

Kyle Parker stared at his friend and colleague as though he'd just been told they'd run out of coffee. –She's probably busy. Josh had her all over the last couple weeks…--

--She always calls,-- Oliver Lawrence insisted. –When's the last time she didn't call us?—

Kyle thought on that a moment. –Okay. You've got me there. What does her voicemail say?—

--That's just it,-- Oliver explained. –It's not saying anything. It's as though the phone's been disconnected or something…--

--Like someone stole the sim card, or broke it,-- Kyle realized. Turning to his computer, he quickly punched a few numbers into a program he'd designed to trace their cell phones in the event of such an emergency. After a few minutes, he pounded his fist onto the hard surface of his desk. –I can't get a trace,-- he said. –The phone's not responding…--

--All right. Means one of two things: she's got her phone turned off, or it was busted.—

--Can't be just 'off', 'cause it's not going to voicemail,-- Kyle reiterated.

--So it's busted,-- Oliver said. –Question is, how?— Kyle noticed as the man punched in a number on his phone and waited pensively for his party to pick up.

--Who'd you call?—

--Josh. This isn't like her.-- As soon as Oliver's hands dropped, he got a familiar voice on the end of the line.

"Oh-lee-vair? 'ow can I 'elp you?"

"Josh, that job you asked Chase to do—where was that?"

"The job?"

"Look, she hasn't answered her check-in in hours. The phone's been disabled somehow, and we're starting to wonder."

"You know she was working a top-secret case."

"Josh. Right now all I care about is finding her. Where was she going?"

The man on the other end sighed. "New York City," he said finally.

"Anything else at all you can tell me?"

"Eet was about exploseeves. She was trackeeng exploseeves, possibly to use een an attack."

"Oh, great." Oliver sighed deeply, trying not to panic. He'd learned long before that panicking got no one anywhere. "Explosives in New York."

"There ees sometheeng wrong, Oh-lee-vair?"

"Maybe. Can you meet?"

There was a pause. "'alf an 'our. Your office."

"We'll be here." Oliver hung up and relayed the contents of the conversation to his partner.

--I hope she's all right,-- Kyle said. –Should I call the locals there?—

--Do we know anyone there?—

Kyle slowly shook his head. –No one I know of.—

--Better let me make that call. As soon as we get more from Josh.--

Both men looked at each other, sincerely hoping their friend and employer had simply dropped the device somewhere and broke it on accident.

----

Chase's head spun. Her stomach began to growl, and she knew that her urgent desire for water wasn't because she was hoping to cash in on her 'hosts' hospitality. _I'd wonder what was in it,_ she thought as she continued to think about rainstorms and waterfalls. Her shoulders were growing stiff from being forced behind her back for so long, and every time Chase tried to pull at her bonds she only managed to make the pain in her wrists increase a little more.

_The hell were these idiots doing there anyway? _she wondered. It was supposed to be easy—after three weeks of tracing down buyers and suppliers, she was so close to finding the people Josh had been looking for she could taste it. _What went wrong?_

Retracing the events of the day in her head, Chase closed her eyes in order to concentrate. She'd been waiting in that alley nearly three hours, knowing full well that the buy was going down there. The black jeans and shirt might have made her look more Goth than she'd liked, but it wasn't a color that would stand out. Chase remembered seeing several dark SUV's casually line the outer streets surrounding the alley, remembered a few people getting out and moving around. Most of them spoke Chinese, and none of it Cantonese, which had irked her.

_People getting ready for a buy, but…then what? _The next thing the investigator remembered was waking up in this dark, stuffy room, trussed up like the Thanksgiving turkey she'd mutilated the year before. _What did I miss?_ Chase racked her brain, desperate for answers, but none were forthcoming.

Just then the door opened, and Chase noticed the tiny lighted slit in the wall growing larger. Small, delicate footsteps padded their way towards the bound woman, and soon the packing tape and cloth was removed from Chase's mouth once more.

"Shh," a voice hissed. It was a woman's. "Eat now."

"Eat? Eat what?" Chase said, tapering her voice a little.

"Shh! No talk. Eat." The sound of metal sliding against the worn mattress frame echoed in Chase's ears, and soon the woman sat down next to the investigator's feet, gently trying to turn Chase over onto her side.

"My…my hands," Chase whispered. "I can't…"

Something thick was shoved into Chase's mouth—something thick and dry and crusty. Working her jaw around the hard item between her teeth, Chase managed to break off a piece of the food and chew it, though with difficulty. Each bite made her teeth ache terribly, but her stomach pleaded for more.

"More," she whispered again, readying herself for the next rock-like morsel. After a few more bites, Chase shook her head at the offered food. "I can't," she said. "Could…could I have some water?"

Slowly something brushed against her lips. Chase greedily drank from the thin cup, relishing every drop of tepid water as though it were Evian. "More," she panted, her mouth desperate for moisture.

"All gone. Now, shh." The woman moved off of the bed and picked something up.

"No, please," Chase begged, her voice pleading. "Please, you…you don't have to…"

"Same. Like before." In the few minutes the woman had spoken with her, Chase could tell that English was not a first language for her.

"No, not like…" The rest of the sentence was cut off as the cloth was replaced and the tape refreshed around her head. Chase tried to protest, but her words came out as mere muffled sounds.

"Later, maybe," the woman whispered, almost as an apology. Then the door closed behind her, leaving the investigator alone in the darkness once more.

----

Ling Ling crept out of the small room and scurried back to the kitchen. She placed the plate full of bread crumbs and the thin plastic cup next to the sink with the mountain of other dishes she was expected to wash. "Place is a wreck, girlie," Mike had commented evilly, pulling Ling Ling's hair as she tried to look anywhere but in his eyes. "Clean it up, now."

The two cousins had then left, locking the door behind them. Ling Ling knew better than to try the doors—the few times she had they never opened anyway. Then she thought of the woman the pair had dragged in, all tied up and limp like a sack of flour. She knew what that little room could be like on the hottest day, and as soon as she knew she wasn't being watched she wanted to try to help her.

The soap suds began to engulf the dishes in the sink, and her hands were becoming prune-like as she stared out of the small, dingy window. Ling Ling thought of being outside on such a beautiful day, perhaps sitting on the stoop or maybe working in a little garden. Ling Ling liked gardening, but hadn't done much of that since coming to live in this horrible place. Her eyes traveled to a lone aloe plant and a scrubby violet that she'd been allowed to keep, and though both were thriving under her care, she often wished that she herself would wither as they had once done.

After an hour the dishes were finally clean, and then she began to sweep and scrub the rest of the house. The living room was always a disaster—broken bottles, razor blades, cardboard boxes from takeout left in piles on the floor, powdery substances in little bags and dried brown leaves that made Ling Ling's nose cringe when she smelled them burning. The little woman slowly began sweeping and collecting the refuse that littered the area, careful to put anything that might be 'valuable' in a special spot near the corner of the room. Ling Ling remembered the time she'd wiped up what she'd thought was flour or bad sugar from the crumbling coffee table, and had received the beating of her life for it.

"Twelve hundred dollars, bitch!" Mike had snarled, punching Ling Ling in the jaw. The blow had sent her to the floor. "And you just _mop it up_?!"

"I sorry," Ling Ling had cried. "You say clean…"

"Well, _next _time you brush it up and put it over there," he spat, pointing to the corner of the room. "Can't afford to lose more product, you hear?"

Ling Ling had nodded vigorously, desperate at the time to appease her attacker. There wasn't much to the nineteen year-old, and a strong blow could easily shatter something permanently in her. Now she made use of the little hand brush and dustpan, brushing the powdery substances on the coffee table into her dustpan and then placing the contents in a little Mason jar. Once she'd wiped down the room, she then started towards the bathroom, heaving a sad sigh.

----

Chase lay in the hot, stuffy room, her hands beginning to hurt from lying on top of them for so long. Her shoulders ached, and she desperately tried to roll them from their unnatural position a few times in an attempt to stretch them out.

_Who's the girl?_ she wondered. _She can't be more than twenty. English isn't her first language, which means traditional family or recent immigrant, but if that's true…how'd she end up here?_

Closing her eyes, Chase rolled onto her side, wishing she could have some more water. She'd been picking at the packing tape that bound her for hours, only to end up with sore fingers and little progress. _Wish I had that knife on me right about now,_ she thought. _Might have a chance with that…_

Suddenly an image flew through her mind—one of people falling to the ground, the sound of bullets soaring helter-skelter near where she had been waiting. Angry voices quarreled in several dialects, and the shouts of younger people began to drown out the voices of her suspected explosives buyers.

"_Come on!"_ one voice had shouted. _"Get the stuff and let's get!"_

"_Who the hell are these assholes?!" _another voice had cried out. Chase remembered vaguely the sight of weapons, but the fog hadn't lifted over that part of her memory yet. _"Hey!" _the voice had yelled. _"The hell you think you're doing?!"_

"_Business," _a heavily accented voice had replied, sounding much older and more 'experienced'—Chase had no other word to describe it. _"Now, run along."_

"_Run along from a huge coke buy? Get that!"_

That was when all hell had broken loose. Chase mentally kicked herself for not getting out when she had the chance and picking the trail back up later, but now it couldn't be helped. She remembered trying to follow the explosives buyers, but then something had struck her in the legs, and she'd fallen…then the fog, then nothing. The next thing Chase remembered was waking up in this black hole of a room.

_Focus, Chase,_ she reminded herself. _By now a lot of time has passed, and the guys are looking for you because you didn't check in. You'll get out of this in one piece._ A small sigh escaped her nostrils. _I hope._

-----

"Will you get a load of this?" a voice said, descending onto the scene like it was the sight of a last stand. "Looks like World War Three hit!"

"That's not the half of it," another voice concurred, this one soft and warm, almost jovial. "Three bodies on their way to Sid, and we get to clean up…"

"Man," the first voice sighed, setting down what looked like an oversized tool box and studying the shoe impressions in the crumbling concrete. "Brace yourself, Adam, I think we're gonna be here a while."

The younger man smiled. "Found some blood, took a couple of shoe lifts…"

"A _couple?"_

"Well, like four or five. Had to wait on you, Danny—I was starting to run out of lifts."

"Good thing I stocked up." The two men continued to comb over the area as though it held the Hope diamond, carefully examining each crevice in the concrete and unexplained powder that had fallen on the ground. "What you think, coke?" Danny asked. Adam shrugged, remembering the last time he'd ended up processing a scene with that as a base. "It's positive," his companion said, showing his the test results.

"So a drug buy gone bad?" Adam wondered, moving on to a strange clay-like substance that was lying near one wall of the alley. "Wonder what this is," he mused to himself, bagging the substance and taking thorough notes on where he'd found it.

"Could be," Danny concurred. "Don't explain this, though," he said, finding a small pile of what looked to be gunpowder. After testing a sample and documenting it, he too bagged the odd substance and moved on.

Over the next four hours, the crime scene began to clear little by little, and soon there was only Adam standing near a few small drops of blood near a dumpster. Clinging to the item were a few medium-length hairs, all with root tags—as if someone had witnessed something they shouldn't have and had tried to run.

"Hey, Danny," he called, motioning to his companion. "Take a look at this."

The bespectacled man stared at what Adam had been puzzling at for several minutes. "Huh," he said finally. "You collect it?"

"Yeah. Still, though—are we missing a body?"

"We're missing _a lot_ of bodies, Adam," the older man said, trying to keep things light. "You don't honestly think three people made this big a mess?"

"Of course not, I just…what if someone's hurt out there? Someone we're not looking for?"

"Well, we'll find out," Danny replied. "Come on. The lab awaits."

-----

"What are we keeping her for, Mike?" Eddie whined as the two cousins waited for their buyer to show. "Keepin' a private cop's just as bad as keepin' a real one…"

"And yet, you haven't asked yourself the important question," Mike countered. "What _was_ a private cop doing in that alley?"

"Scouting us, no doubt. Why?"

Mike stared off into the growing dark. He liked the fall of night—made his business easier to conduct when the thick opaque blanket of dusk and twilight set in, and the black sky hid him from a wide view. "Those other people, what were they doing there?"

"Who knows. Looked like a buy."

"Yeah, but that's _our_ area. Worked hard for it, too. What gives those assholes the right to come in and poach our customers?"

Eddie sat silently a moment. "You're right. Still, about the dame…"

"We keep her 'til we find out what's going on. Something tells me there's a lot more she's not telling us. Might even prove to be useful later."

Mike's comment was received with a derisive snort. "I'm telling you, Mike, I don't know…"

"And what have I told you about thinking, Eddie?"

Eddie's face fell a little. "Not to do it so much."

"Precisely. Once we're finished here, we'll go have a nice chat with our 'houseguest.' You'll see." Soon a shadow approached the pair as they sat waiting, and their business was conducted.


	2. Chapter 2

**I should probably mention here that one of my characters--Kyle Parker--is completely deaf. The little lines around his dialogue indicate he's using American Sign Language. Hope you enjoy the chapter!

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"Josh, what's going on?!" Oliver yelled. He instantly regretted his tone the moment he shouted at the man who was like a father figure to him. "I'm…I'm sorry," he said apologetically. "It's just…this isn't like her."

"Expeerience means something, no?" the older man replied gently, realizing his young protégé's concern was more than great. "She 'as pulled 'erself out of such theengs before…"

Oliver slumped into his desk chair, looking out over Postman Ave in the small college town of Campbell, Virginia. "Every day for three weeks, she called in, Josh. Never said where she was, never said what she was up to—and I didn't ask. I knew better. But she doesn't miss a call. And the later it gets, the more worried I am that something's seriously wrong."

"_Mais oui_," Josh said simply, his thick accent hanging over the tense atmosphere in the loft office like a wet cloud. "You then wish to know what she was doing, yes?"

"Will it blow your case?"

Josh sighed. "Both you and Mr. Parker air qualified. You shall know." The FBI's head of counterterrorism beckoned Oliver back toward the front of his desk, settling in the black leather chair that was starting to crack in places. "Miss Davis was looking eento a threat we received nearly one month ago—a threat to sheep weapons-grade exploseeves eento thees country and use them een a 'demonstration,' as eet was called."

"And you couldn't send Paul?" Oliver asked. "He's more than qualified, Josh…"

"Paul, 'e ees very good, _oui_," Josh replied, "but 'e ees not so good, eh, 'ow you say, 'blending een?' Then their ees the matter of traceeng the sheepment to eets source and eets buyer. Eet ees thees that concairns us, Oh-lee-vair. You remember what happened the last time…"

"Yeah. I remember." It was something Oliver wasn't about to forget.

"So, I 'ired Miss Davis. Experieence 'as told me she ees quite capable of turning ovair the correct rocks, and she weel catch the pairson or pairsons responsible for thees threat."

"The threat is real, then? Not a wild-goose chase?"

"Oh-lee-vair. 'ave I evair been wrong?"

"Only once." Blue eyes met hazel ones, and the men shared a knowing look.

"Touche. Steel, thees could be 'er finally figuring out where the exploseeves are…"

The two men began to talk more as Kyle continued to pore over his computer. He knew Oliver would tell him if something important came up in the conversation, and there was a part of him that didn't like not doing anything while his friend could potentially still be out there and in trouble. Using a program he'd created, Kyle managed to start scouring many of the national databases and the ones situated in New York City, looking for possible hits on Chase's DNA or her fingerprints. Though Kyle had started the search three hours ago, he continued to run the program over and over hoping that a hit would come up. Suddenly the screen flashed a bright green, and Kyle gave a shout.

--What is it?— Oliver signed, jumping out of his chair and hurrying over to his friend and colleague. –"You find something?"—

--Someone's found something,-- Kyle replied. The tech started looking into the source of the hit and discovered not only a place, but a name. –This guy here, he ran the evidence,-- he said.

--Should I call?—

Kyle reached for his bag. –No. I'm going up there to talk to him in person.—

--Wait,-- Oliver said, putting a hand out to stop him.

--Like hell. This guy, this place? Might be close to finding her. I'm not taking any chances.—

Josh stood up from his seat, watching the younger men hold a silent but heated discussion. "What ees eet?" the older man asked, his voice also tinged with worry.

"Kyle's found something. A lab up in Manhattan started running evidence connected to Chase. He wants to go up there himself, but…"

"Then go we shall." When he got a look from Oliver, the older man countered, "I too am worried about 'er. Like you say, she ees not like thees."

Oliver reached for his coat. "I just hope we're not too late."

-----

"Uh…oh boy," Adam said as his screen began to turn red and shut down altogether. The tech did the first thing that sprang to mind—he raced for Mac's office and hoped the lab supervisor was in there. As Adam rounded the corner, he heaved a sigh of relief when he saw the man in question poring over a few stray files.

"Mac," Adam said, gasping for breath. "Mac, I think we've got a problem…"

"Whoa," the older supervisor said, his face now taking in the sight of his technician panting as though he'd run a marathon and more animated than usual. "Slow down. Take a breath." After a second, the man continued. "Now, what's wrong?"

"Uh, I was running those hairs I found at my crime scene," Adam began, his hands gesticulating wildly as he spoke. "Didn't find a match in our database, so I went national, and I got a hit…but then the program shut down and warning bells went off…"

"Warning bells?"

"You know, like when you accidentally set off an alarm?" Adam took another breath, and then said, "Whoever's hair I found at that scene, it was red-flagged."

No sooner did Mac hear this than the man was out of his seat and walking towards the trace lab, his gait at a near gallop. Just as Adam described, the DNA station's monitor was flashing a bright red color and a 'warning' screen had popped up. Below the warning screen, another small window appeared: _enter access code._

"See what I mean?" Adam said. "Did…did we find some terrorist or something?"

Mac typed in a few keystrokes, but the screen buzzed angrily at him and again requested a security code. "Whatever's blocking us, it's encrypted," the supervisor realized.

"Um, well, now what?" Adam asked. "I mean, I don't have that kind of clearance…"

"And apparently, I don't either. First thing to do is find out where the encryption is coming from, and then we'll start there. Think you can…?"

"Already on it," Adam replied, settling down in his chair.

----

Chase woke to a hand pulling her onto her back. The pull was rough, as though she were little more than a rag doll that a child had decided to carry at the last minute. Strong fingers pulled the packing tape off of her face, and removed the cloth from her mouth. "You bite me, and you'll be sorry," a voice said—Chase remembered it as the one called 'Mike.'

The woman inhaled a few deep breaths before she tried to speak. "What do you want?" she asked, her voice low but firm.

"Well, you and me, we're gonna have ourselves a chat."

Chase took another breath. "All right," she said.

"What were you doing out there today?" The sounds of a chair being pulled forward grated on her eardrums, but the investigator paid it little mind.

"Business."

"What _kind_ of 'business'?"

Chase wondered just how much to say. "I-I was following someone."

"Yeah. Us."

"No, I swear, I wasn't…"

A slap to her face caused her to cry out. "Don't lie to me," 'Mike' hissed, his thick fingers firmly grasping her chin and tugging on it slightly. "Who hired you?"

Chase shook her head. "I can't say."

"Can't, or won't?"

The woman swallowed thickly. "I can't."

"I should just kill you," the younger man said nonchalantly, as though he was asking about the weather. "Cost me a lot of merchandise, plus you're expensive."

Bright green eyes widened in fear, though Chase worked hard not to let it overcome her. "Look. I don't know who you are, but whatever your 'business' is, I'm not interested, okay?"

"Yeah. You say that now." The chair grated over the floor again, and Chase heard the man get to his feet. "Guarantee though that the second you turn up somewhere, you'll rat us out."

"No, I won't…" The woman's sentence was cut off by a hand that clamped down over her lips.

"You will. Now, until the coast is clear, or you start telling the truth, I've got no choice but to keep you here. Do we understand each other?"

_Dumbass! _Chase thought angrily. _I am telling you the truth!_

"Do we understand each other?!"

Worried she might receive another blow, Chase nodded her head. "Good," 'Mike' said, reaching for something on the bed. "Now, you think about what happened here, and in a while we'll try again. I've got all the time in the world, and right now you're just insurance for my little operation, you catch me?"

_Oh, great,_ Chase thought. _Means he might or might not kill me at any moment… _To appease him, she nodded her head once more to show she understood.

"Good." The investigator could feel the hateful cloth being poised near her lips.

"Come on," she said softly, trying to show submission. "Give a girl a break?"

"So you can start screaming? No, don't think so," the young man spat, roughly shoving the cloth back into Chase's mouth and winding fresh tape around her head. "Not until I get to 'know' you better."

_The hell does that mean?!_ she wondered, her mind racing to a thousand places she didn't want to think about. Chase tried to protest, but the muffled whines and groans rendered her unintelligible as the cloth filtered her words out. Soon the door closed behind her captor, and the woman was once again bathed in complete darkness.


	3. Chapter 3

**Usual disclaimers. :)

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**

"Any luck?"

"Man, she's not talking." Mike flopped down next to the battered coffee table and reached for the fine white powder he'd carefully arranged in a line. Using a straw, he inhaled the substance and threw his head back once the line was finished. "God, I needed that."

"Hey, if she's gonna be stubborn, why we keepin' her?" Eddie complained again. "She dies on us, and we got bigger problems…"

"Eddie, stop thinking. Do a couple lines or something, but chill out. I'm telling you, she knows something. Those 'lopers in our buy spot, they weren't there for the scenery. Something was going down, and maybe…"

"Maybe what?"

"Maybe I'm thinkin' I want in."

"You don't make enough on the coke?"

"You see how those guys were dressed? The rides? _Fine_ quality stuff, there. I'm thinkin' we could be moving on up."

Eddie snorted his second line, then tossed his head back as the high began to hit. "Could do with a new place," he said, his voice all wavy and dream-like. "Hey, girlie!" he yelled, looking around for the young woman they'd 'acquired' through a debt payment. "How 'bout some dinner?"

"Yes," a soft, broken voice called from the side bedroom. "Wh-what you like?"

"Surprise me, eh?" Eddie said, laughing. He knew once the high lifted, he'd be starving, and he wanted more than the usual Twinkie to tide him over until the next line. Behind him, tiny feet brushed across the chipped linoleum flooring and made their way into the dingy kitchen.

Ling Ling pulled out a large pot, knowing there was some rice left from her own stores that she managed to keep. A can of Oriental vegetables remained in the cupboard, and she peered into the mostly empty refrigerator to find that there was still a small package of chicken that hadn't gone rancid or been tainted. She pushed aside the giant case of beer that remained permanently housed on the middle shelf and retrieved the tiny package, hoping it would be enough. The rest of the cupboards were bare, and she knew a trip to a store would have to be made. Soon she was washing the rice and warming the vegetables in a small saucepan, and trying to cut the two large chicken breasts into as tiny of pieces as possible.

"Smells good, girlie," the younger man called out, his voice holding a slightly mocking tone to it. "Might make something of you yet."

"Hey. Leave the help alone, Eddie. Can't be working and yapping with you at the same time."

Ling Ling combined the vegetables and the chicken together and poured it over four plates of rice. She then took out the large plates and handed them to the men, still sprawled out on the ratted sofa near the coffee table. "Eat," she said, her voice questioning. "You like?"

"Mmm," Mike said, his high beginning to fade. "Chinese." He devoured the plate in four bites and held the plate back up. "I want some more."

"No more. All out."

"Fine," Mike snapped, heaving his frame off of the couch and stalking into the kitchen. "I'll just eat yours, then." Ling Ling stood meekly as he man snatched her plate off the table, and she closed her eyes as he noticed the extra setting. "Who the hell's this for, huh?" Mike barked, his voice raising three octaves.

"For…for lady…"

"Bitch don't eat 'less we _say_ she does, you understand?!" Mike roared. He tossed his second plate on the table and thundered over towards the quivering woman, striking her across the face. "She's _nothing_ to you, you got that?!"

Ling Ling remained where she stood, a giant hand-shaped welt forming across her face and tears trickling down her cheeks. "I-I sorry…"

"Yeah, you _are_ sorry," Mike snapped, picking up both plates that the girl had set out on the table. "Nothing for you, no, not after that." The man took some pleasure in seeing her wide eyes pleading softly for a share of the dinner she'd made.

"No food left," Ling Ling said sadly. "All gone."

_Damn,_ Mike thought. _Now I gotta stock up. _"Eddie!"

"Yeah?"

"I gotta go out in a few minutes. Make sure that dame don't move, and make sure this one--" he added, pointing at Ling Ling, "doesn't see her. Can you do that, huh?"

"Yeah. Sure. I can do that."

"Make sure you do. She escapes, and I'm takin' it out on you, understand?"

"All right, all right. Shit. Just go already, huh? And bring back some Twinkies!"

"You and those damn Twinkies," Mike muttered as he collected his keys and made sure the door was locked. He looked over at the back bedroom door, and an idea began to form in his head. Mike then headed out into the night, taking a deep breath of the cool summer night air. _Perfect weather,_ he thought as he made a mental list of what he'd need to bring back with him.

-----

An hour later, Eddie managed to pass out on the sofa, the result of one too many beers he'd made Ling Ling liberate from the refrigerator. Getting high always made him crave Twinkies and a good beer, and he usually managed to pass out after about six of them.

Ling Ling searched the cupboards for any scrap of something to eat, and she nearly cried when she managed to find one half-stale package of saltines that had been forgotten. Hearing no sound coming from the living room couch, the girl crept quietly towards the back bedroom door and carefully pushed it open, quickly shutting it to avoid being spotted. The dark room held no light source, and Ling Ling had to make do with using her ears to listen for the sound of breathing or a slight rustle of the lady against the thin, worn-out mattress. The girl managed to find the edge of the bed, and she gently placed a hand on the dozing figure below her. The woman woke with a start, the remnants of a scream dying as a result of the thick cloth in her mouth. Ling Ling gently removed the packing tape and pulled the cloth from the lady's mouth, allowing her to heave a few deep breaths. "Thank you," the woman whispered, startling Ling Ling.

"Shh!" the girl hissed. "Eat," she ordered, her voice barely a whisper.

"Please, my arms," the lady begged. "They're so sore…"

"Eat," Ling Ling repeated, shoving the stale saltine into the woman's mouth. A crunching sound floated up to the younger woman's ears, and soon there was a thick sound that Ling Ling thought might be her swallowing the cracker. She hastily shoved another into the woman's mouth, hoping that the lady wouldn't talk much. After the fifth cracker, the lady began to cough.

"Water," Ling Ling heard her ask, the woman's voice soft and pleading. "Please, miss, some water…"

"No water. Eat."

A long sigh escaped from the woman's lips, and she accepted another cracker, crunching it slowly. "Listen," she said after swallowing, "could I maybe, um…"

"No water."

"No, no," the lady said quickly, keeping her voice low. "Um, I have to, ah…" Ling Ling heard the woman wriggle a little against the bed, and suddenly it became clear what she was asking.

"No key," the girl replied, poking at the handcuffs that anchored the 'prisoner' to the bed.

"Shit," the woman breathed. "I can't…"

A thought crossed Ling Ling's mind, and she stood up. "No…wait," the lady pleaded, her voice hanging thick with worry. "Don't leave…"

"One minute. Shh." Ling Ling quietly crept back to the door and pressed an ear against the splintering wood. The sound of silence greeted her ears, and she slid through the tiny crack of a door and hurried to the bathroom. There Ling Ling found a small bucket that she filled with a little water and carried back to the back bedroom, her eyes peeled for any sign of the man returning home. The girl managed to slip into the room again unnoticed, and she carried the bucket over to the prone woman lying on the worn mattress.

"Up," she said, setting the bucket down and lifting the woman to a sitting position. "You use, now."

"Use what?" the lady began to ask, when suddenly Ling Ling managed to balance the older woman on top of the bucket. The whole affair took some doing, as the lady's feet could not be moved from the bed, chained as they were. Finally Ling Ling heard a sigh of relief.

"Oh, my God," the bound woman whispered. She turned her head, and Ling Ling noticed the pair of bright green eyes—almost like polished jade, the kind in rich ladies' necklaces. "Thank you."

Ling Ling didn't reply, but managed to rearrange the woman back onto the bed and pull the soiled bucket from underneath her. Ling Ling also refastened the lady's pants and made her more 'presentable'—even if there was no way to truly 'see' in this stifling hole of a room.

"What's your name?" the lady asked. The girl thought it a strange question—no one had asked her that in a long time.

"Name Ling Ling." The younger woman pointed to herself, then realized the futility in the gesture—there was no way the bound woman could see her.

"Ling Ling, my name is Chase." The bright jade-like eyes glistened as they stared into Ling Ling's own, as though they were silently pleading for help. "Will you help me?"

"I.." the girl stuttered, looking for the right words. Since coming to this country at fourteen with her brother, Ling Ling had barely had enough time to pick up much of the English language. Two years after she had arrived, she had been told she would live in this place as a 'duty' to her brother—he had defaulted on a payment, and an 'arrangement' had been reached for her to work off the debt. "I not…"

"Please," the lady begged. "Please, I have to get out of here…"

"Shh, now," Ling Ling said, reaching for the cloth she'd removed from the lady's mouth.

"No, wait," the lady—Chase—cried softly, trying not to be heard. "Ling Ling, if…if I don't get out of here, something bad will happen…"

"Yes. Something bad happen." Ling Ling hastily shoved the piece of cloth back into the woman's mouth and then wrapped more tape around her head to keep it in place. Her ears were pricked for the sound of the front door, which thankfully had a loud, grating squeak that could be heard all through the house. The squeak didn't sound, and Ling Ling's courage grew a little. Once she was certain that her 'trespass' would not be discovered, the girl removed all trace of her being in the room and made a quiet exit.

-----

It had taken nearly two hours to book flights to New York, and several more to actually get airborne. Oliver thought of the private jet several friends and occasional colleagues of theirs at the FBI had at their disposal, and wondered briefly if Josh could have managed to wrangle it.

"Finally," he said, walking to the side of the street and hailing a taxi. Kyle was right behind him, the look of determination still plastered on his face as he shouldered his laptop carrier.

"You go on ahead, yes," Josh had said once the three had landed at JFK. "You will call eef sometheeng 'appens?"

"Going to the lab, Josh, it's in Midtown," Oliver said. "Thirty-fifth floor." Oliver provided Josh with the address, and a promise to meet back up there. As the older man waited for his luggage, the younger investigators made their way towards their destination through the illuminated night sky of Manhattan.

"Business?" the cabbie had asked, hoping to strike up conversation.

"Something like that," Oliver replied curtly. "Please, step on it."

"Traffic's only going so fast, pal. Can't make this heap fly."

"Find a way and it's worth double the fare to me."

The cabbie's head perked up at the sound of that. "Sure thing," the man said, quickly making a turnoff and heading down the 'back roads' of the cramped little island half the world called home. Thirty minutes later, the cab pulled up to the location, and the cabbie eagerly collected nearly one hundred dollars in his fare. "Thanks," Oliver said as Kyle quickly made his way to the doors.

--Ollie, there's guards. Shit.—

--Place usually has a back door, though,-- Oliver replied.

Kyle set up his laptop in a corner next to the entrance. –Hang on,-- he said, looking at the scrolling screen before him. –I think I can override the system for a few minutes…--

--How many?—

--Ten, tops. We'll have to run.—

--Do it. We might not have that much time.—

Kyle ran the override program, glad he'd taken a few pointers from a few tech friends working at the FBI. Within seconds the building collapsed into darkness, and Oliver tapped Kyle's shoulder. –Come on.—

The two managed to make their way through the disabled guard posts, using the cover of darkness to their advantage. The small emergency lights that illuminated a path to the stairs were the only working points of light in the whole building—Kyle had managed to hack the emergency generators as well as the main power junction. Taking the stairs at two and three at a time, the lights flickered back on just as the pair made the thirtieth floor.

--Now we'll look like we were always here,-- Oliver said. –Just don't get noticed.—

--Easier said than done,-- Kyle said as the two reached the thirty-fifth floor, their breaths labored and panting. –Two minutes, and then we go.—

----

"Hey, what the…"

"Damn!"

"Oh, great."

The sounds of the second-shift CSI's and lab techs could be heard resounding all over the building. While no one liked a power outage, in their line of work one could prove detrimental to finding that one piece of evidence or—in some cases—preserving it.

"Who turned off all the lights?" Danny called out, his hands blindly reaching for the workstation he was sitting at. "And why haven't the backups kicked in?!"

"Maybe the failure's a local problem," a familiar voice said, and Danny could hear the concern in his friend's voice.

"Doc, since when'd you become an electrician?"

"Over a dozen cases involving arson, you pick up a few things," the man replied. "Still, it's interesting…"

"What's interesting is that we're still sitting here like ducks. Hey, you don't think…?"

"Think what?"

"Mac said Adam got some weird trace results earlier…somethin' about 'warning bells' and whatnot?"

"You didn't go look?"

The two men hurried over to the trace lab, nearly knocking into someone as they did. "Ow! Hey, where's the fire, boys?"

"No time, Montana," Danny said, ducking around the little redhead he adored, pausing only to place a hand on her swollen abdomen. "This 'blackout' probably isn't no accident…" As he reached the trace lab, the lights flickered back to life, and everything was as it had been only moments before. "Huh," he said, looking over at Adam, who was deep in thought as he stared at the flashing red screen before him. "What's all this? Mac said there was some sort of warning on some of that trace…"

"Those hairs, Danny," Adam said. "I tried running them through the national database, and then…this." He waved a hand at the stubborn screen, which thankfully had stopped screaming with the power cut. The demand for an 'access code,' however, had not been quashed. "Makes me wonder just what happened in that alley, huh?"

"Yeah, Adam…me too," his colleague replied, his own concerns mirroring everyone else's. "Can't shake the feeling there's more to this…"

"Well, my eyes are going batty, staring at this," Adam said finally. "I need a break." The younger man blinked his eyes a couple of times, trying to adjust them away from the bright glaring red of the screen and the sudden burst of light that had flooded his irises. "What have you got?"

"Bullets. Dozens and dozens of 'em. Whoever shot those off, they weren't messin' around, ya know?"

-----

Kyle watched as the two men left the little glassed-in room, and he hoped he was staying quiet as he entered and took the still-warm seat the shorter man had left vacant. His own bright eyes took in the glaring red screen in front of him, and he quickly began to enter a series of numbers he'd committed to memory a long time before.

_--There's a lot of codes you'll have to remember,-- _he remembered Chase telling him the day she'd confided in him about her 'other' job. _–A lot of different keys you'll need to get into my access level…--_

_--I can handle it,--_ he'd replied. _–Mind like a steel trap for this, remember?—_

_--Yeah.-- _

After a few tries, Kyle started to become frustrated. None of the usual codes were working, and he'd gotten all the codes from Josh the older man thought he'd need. Kyle looked around briefly at the glass walls, and it bothered him to be working in such a 'display case' as this. The screen continued to flash red at him, and he let out a puff of frustrated air and settled in to work.

-----

"What caused the power outage?" a no-nonsense voice said, coming off the elevator and walking briskly towards Adam and Danny, the clicks of her heels sounding like spikes stabbing a block of wood.

"Maintenance is workin' on that, Stella," Danny said. "I thought maybe it was someone trying to come back for evidence, like that one time…"

"No drug busts, no high-profile cases," Stella replied, remembering the caseload that had come in the previous day. "Nothing anyone would want."

"E-except those hairs," Adam said, growing timid.

"Hairs?"

"Y-yeah, see, I collected some trace from that scene up near Chinatown, the alley? Anyway, the trace gave me a funny read…"

"Define 'funny'."

"Warnin' bells, red screens, high-level access codes needed to get information," Danny filled in.

"You tell Mac?"

"Earlier, before he left. Told me to call if something broke on that, which…it hasn't...yet."

"And you two are standing here why?"

"Um…needed a break?"

"Okay. Five minutes, Adam, then back to it."

"On my way now." The young man turned on his heel and headed back to the trace lab, leaving Danny to explain the rest of the mysterious 'blackout' to the woman-in-charge. Just as he turned the corner, however, he noticed someone sitting in he chair he'd vacated—and it was being filled by someone unfamiliar to him.

"Hey, what are you--" Adam began, growing a little angry, but then he stopped in mid-sentence as he noticed the screen wasn't red anymore. "Hey," he called again. "How'd you do that?"

The man didn't reply, or even look up. Steady fingers continued tapping into the DNA computer keyboard, as though the man who worked them was looking for something specific.

"Adam, how's it…" Danny called out, stopping in his tracks as he too saw the mysterious young man hunched over the keyboard. "Hey, who the hell are you?!" he yelled, reaching over to pull the man away from the monitor. The second Danny's hand grabbed his shoulder, however, the stranger grabbed it, holding it immobile as he literally flipped Danny onto his back and sprawled him on the floor. Without missing a beat, the man turned back to the monitor.

"The hell?" Danny cried out, the wind knocked out of him. "Adam, call…"

"Danny, it's not blinking," the younger tech said, still in awe.

"What? Adam, he could be compromisin' evidence here!" Struggling to right himself, Danny reached out for the stranger's arm this time, moving quicker than his adversary. "Hey, buddy," he yelled. "Who the hell you think you are, Bruce Lee?"

The stranger shook his head, a confused look on his face. He blinked his eyes a little, as though startled by Danny's presence, and then slowly turned to see that he was not alone in the room. Pointing to the monitor, the man moved his hands in an odd formation. –"Where is she?"—he said, and the confused look on both Danny and Adam's faces told the man he hadn't been understood.

"Great, he breaks in and then he speaks Martian?" Danny cracked, his anger being tempered by his professionalism for the moment. "Hey, Stella!" he called out, his voice carrying across half of the thirty-fifth floor. As the tall woman hurried towards them, Danny turned to Adam. "Watch him," he said, not really wanting to try putting handcuffs on the man by himself. Pulling out his cell phone, Danny dialed a familiar number.

"Taylor."

"Mac, it's Danny. We got something you need to see on this trace of Adam's…"

"What is it?" A quick look at his watch told Danny that his boss had probably been woken up by his call.

"Some guy tried breakin' in, messing with the DNA computers…"

"Keep him there. I'm on my way. If you can, move him to my office. And call Flack," Mac said quickly. "If this guy's trying to steal or compromise evidence…"

"Done. Thanks." Danny waited until Stella walked through the door, and then turned to the stranger who was sitting quietly with a confused look on his face. "Stel, Mac says this guy goes to his office. He's comin' in."

"I would think so," Stella said briskly, glad Danny had made the call. "All right, what the hell were you doing?" she snapped, looking the young man in the eye as they started walking out of trace. The 'prisoner's' eyes furrowed, his face contorting in even deeper confusion.

"Where is she?" he asked again, knowing full well his voice was unintelligible. He couldn't move his hands, as the Greek woman had bound them behind his back.

"Forget it, Stella," Danny replied. "This guy's speakin' Martian…"

"Wait," Stella said, stopping the small party just a few feet from Mac's office. Turning to the young man again, she spoke slowly, and to Danny it looked as though Stella were talking to a very slow child. "What were you doing in there?" she said.

The young man moved his hands behind him, and his eyes were wide. "I'm deaf," he said, talking slowly. "Please, tell me—where is she?"


	4. Chapter 4

**Usual disclaimers.

* * *

**

The door squeaked and squawked as it raked against its rusting hinges. "Hey, girlie!" Mike yelled, his arms full of plastic bags that were overflowing with food items. "Get out there and haul that crap in, eh?"

Meekly, Ling Ling went outside and collected the parcels. Some of them were so heavy the slight woman struggled to carry them.

"Eddie, get up," Mike snarled, kicking at his cousin who still lay sprawled over the ratted couch. The younger man never stirred.

"Eddie, get your ass up!" Mike screamed, tossing the limp form of his companion off the withering couch and sending him crashing to the floor. The sudden jolt made Eddie stir, and he rubbed his eyes slowly to clear them.

"What the hell?"

"Get out there, make sure that girlie don't try anything stupid," Mike barked.

"She knows better."

"Yeah, well, just get out there," the older man ordered. Grudgingly, Eddie picked himself up from the worn floor and stalked outside. Mike took one of the heavy bags he'd come in with and moved it near the back bedroom, setting the parcel on the floor. Then he worked at stocking the kitchen with the other bags of food—he knew damn well that that little girl couldn't carry a case of beer without dropping it, or a ten-pound bag of rice…

"There," Eddie said, shoving Ling Ling inside and locking the door against the backdrop of the summer night. "It's all in."

"Good. Start helpin' her put this crap away."

"Why me?"

"Cause I said so, that's why," Mike said simply. The older man then made a beeline for the back bedroom, turning the knob and allowing himself inside. In the dark room, he stood a moment to let his eyes adjust to the absence of light, and he heard his 'prisoner' squirming on the mattress just a few feet from him. Mike wiped his brow from the pouring sweat that trickled down his forehead—the heat in that little room was overpowering. Once he was settled, Mike pulled up a chair and once again removed the tape and cloth from his victim's mouth.

"Ready to try again?" he asked.

The woman panted, coughing a little as the stale air managed to work its way more freely into her lungs. "I told you," she managed to choke out, "I don't know who you are. I don't know what you were doing there, and I don't know why you're…"

"But you _do_ know what was going on in that alley," Mike countered, his voice thick with dripping sarcasm. "It's real simple, girlie—tell me what you were doing there and things might improve for you."

"No. You don't understand…" The next sound of the woman's mouth was a sharp cry as she reeled from a strike to the face.

"I'm not stupid. You were following those guys—and maybe me—and I want to know what they were doing on my turf."

"Listen to me. You do not want any part of…" Another slap made her cry out again.

"_I_ decide what I want a part of or not," Mike snapped, drawing his face closer to his prisoner's. "And on that, I want in."

"No. You don't." The woman gasped as Mike punched her in the stomach, knocking the wind out of her.

"You going to tell me, or do you need more time to think?"

"Let me go," the woman coughed, struggling to catch her breath.

"Fine. Guess you need a little more time." Grabbing the cloth, he shoved it back into the woman's mouth, drowning out her cries. He wrapped the packing tape tightly around her head, hoping it was adding to the discomfort the stubborn figure before him was suffering. As he left the room, he heard the soft whines of muffled pleas and shouts emanating from his 'prisoner,' but to no avail. Once outside the door, he pulled his bag next to him and began to work.

----

Chase heard the sounds of something being attached to the door—the sharp knocks of wood and the clang of metal as it dropped to the floor a few times told her it was likely a padlock. _The hell does he need that for?_ she wondered. _It's not like I'm breaking these chains…_

At the thought of her feet, her ankles started to hurt a little from the metal bands that encircled them. Chase knew there was no way to break them—she'd had them specially made on purpose to prevent just that. Some of the people she encountered in her line of work had been impressively strong, and she'd seen more than a few pairs of handcuffs get broken as though they were children's toys.

Sore shoulders tried to turn and twist a little to find some relief from the unnatural position they'd been forced into, but somehow the packing tape that had bound her for hours was still holding strong. _The heat and the sweat rolling onto the damn thing should have weakened it by now,_ Chase mused. _But I still can't get it off…_

The soaring temperature was making her overheated, and she desperately wished for a drop of water. It seemed like forever since the young girl had given her a sip of the liquid, and she now cursed her ethics on keeping quiet about government jobs. _More than likely they'll kill me by withholding water,_ she reasoned. _Gives me just less than three days—if those men with the explosives don't find their buyer first…_

----

"You're not answering the question," a smooth, cultured voice hissed towards the younger man before him.

"Look, I don't…"

"Silence," the older man snapped, the coffee-cream complexion of his skin glistening in frustrated anger. He sighed, drawing out the breath as though it might be someone's last. "This news is displeasing to my employer."

"I swear, I don't know what happened," the younger man pleaded, feeling the hairs on the back of his neck rise in fear. The spacious room he was standing in was bathed in a half-light, which gave his interrogator a good view of him but prevented him from getting a good look at the older man. All that was visible of his 'host' was a spot at the very top of his forehead and the coffee-creamer colored skin that covered a pair of thin but defined arms. "We set the buy in Chinatown, like you asked, and somewhere we wouldn't be seen."

"But you were seen," the older man pointed out. The younger, who called himself Monet, tried hard not to wince in anticipation of something unpleasant. "And then that horrific firefight…"

"Dealers, probably," Monet defended. "I doubt they know anything about…"

"Doubt is not a good foundation on which to do business," the 'host' said simply, though the tone in the man's voice put Monet on edge. "Now my employer must worry that his plans are for naught."

"No, no—I've got the stuff," Monet tried to reassure the somewhat creepy gentleman. "C4, detonators, gunpowder, you name it."

A sigh escaped the 'host's' lips. "I will speak with my employer. Should the transaction take place, it will be done at a place of _his_ choosing, and you will receive less in compensation for this…mishap," the man said crisply, the words hanging in the conditioned air like icicles.

"Okay. That's…that's reasonable," Monet agreed, silently glad he hadn't received worse for angering his latest buyer. The younger man turned to make his leave, and had only taken a few steps when his 'host's' voice stopped him.

"I have heard there was a woman there, at that location," the man's voice sang, as though he were remembering an afterthought. "Who was she?"

"A woman?" Monet racked his brains, trying to remember. "I…I don't remember no woman…"

"An average woman, black hair, green eyes—like polished jade, my men say," the older man continued. "Where is she?"

"I'm telling you, it was so crazy there…I don't remember any woman."

"Hmm. It would be worth your time to locate her. I have heard that a woman was sent to put a stop to this transaction, and she may be useful to my employer." There was a long pregnant pause, and then the older man continued. "Should you find her, my employer might see fit to reimburse you in full, and forgive your past mistake. Alive, of course."

The thought of being able to set things right with his buyer made Monet's eyes widen in determination. "I'll find her."

"Please see that you do." With that, Monet heard soft shuffles against the thick red carpet that seemed to cover the entire room, and he was 'escorted' out by the man's 'security employees.' _Find the woman,_ he thought to himself. _Means I got to figure out who was there in that alley in the first place…_

-----

"Where is she?" the man asked once more, his thick, fuzzy voice garbling most of the sentiment behind his words.

"Danny, that's not Martian—he's deaf!" Stella said, staring at the younger man that stood between them. She led the small party into Mac's office and sat the man down on the sofa, taking the time to release the 'prisoner's' hands from behind his back.

"Hey, what…Stella, you sure that's such a good idea?" Danny asked, remembering the 'greeting' the man had given him when he'd tried to stop him before.

"He's trying to tell us something," Stella replied. "Put a call in downstairs and have them send a translator…"

"All right," a new voice said, sounding like it had just woken up. "This better be one hell of a story, Messer…"

"This guy here tried stealing evidence, Flack," the bespectacled man said, looking up at the detective he knew well.

"Like that time…?"

"Nah. This one, he walks in and starts working at the computers in DNA like it's nothin'."

"Maybe he's a tech?"

"You met this guy?"

Flack looked at the young man a moment—average height, warm eyes, sand-colored hair that looked like it had been through a windstorm. The detective also noticed he'd been cuffed in front, and Stella was searching the office for something. "You lose something, Stella?"

"Got an extra notebook on you?"

Surprised, Flack reached into his pocket. "Just picked up a new one," he replied, handing the item to the tall Greek woman. "What do you…?"

Stella handed the pad to the young man after she scrawled something onto it in her neat script. _What were you doing in there?_ it read.

The man took the offered pen and wrote back. _You found her. Where is she?_

"She?" Danny asked, now thoroughly confused. "Who the hell is 'she'?"

The man scribbled something else. _My employer. And my best friend. You were looking for her information on that computer. Where is she?_

Stella, Danny and Flack looked at each other. "The hell is going on?" Flack said finally, completely clueless. "This have something to do with that scene in Chinatown, maybe?"

"Must be," Stella concluded. "Only two cases came in today, and Adam's the one who found that trace."

"Wait a sec," Danny said, his thoughts clearly somewhere else. "Just before Jackie Chan here laid me out, Adam said somethin' about how the computer wasn't screamin' at him anymore." Drawing closer to the man still perched on the sofa, he made sure he caught his attention. "What'd you do to that computer, huh? Why'd it stop screamin'?"

_There's an access code. I have it. _

"Access code?" Now Flack was completely bewildered. "I feel like I just stepped into James Bond or something…"

"Adam kept sayin' he couldn't process that trace—somethin' about needing an 'access code' or somethin' like that," Danny replied. "He knew there was a match, but he couldn't access the information."

Stella took the pad from the man and wrote another note. _Who is 'she?'_

The man sighed, as though he were sizing up the situation. Finally he scribbled something onto the pad. _Her name is Chase. Chase Davis. She's a private investigator, like me and my colleague._

"What? We're gettin' red flags over a PI?" Danny said, now bewildered himself.

"This one you would," a voice said, startling the trio as they turned to look at its owner, a man that looked to be about Danny's age. He had dark brown hair and bright blue eyes that made Stella think of the ocean. "Especially with her clearance."

"Excuse me—who are you?" Stella asked, growing just a little tired of the surprises that just kept on coming.

The man handed her a card. "Oliver Lawrence. My friend and I are here looking for our employer," he replied simply. "She's also a good friend."

"Whoa, whoa, slow down," Flack said, holding up a hand. "Okay, I just got on this train, and I'm already about to fall off. Someone want to start from the beginning, huh?"

"You might want to wait a few minutes for that, Detective," Oliver said simply. "Not that I won't tell you, but there's someone else you should talk to first, and I'm waiting on him." Looking at Stella, he asked, "Are you in charge here?"

"Right now, yeah," the woman replied. "Stella Bonasera. Who's your friend?"

--You didn't give them your name, Kyle?— Oliver signed, a _look_ crossing his face.

--Found the computer,-- Kyle signed, his hands trying to accommodate the handcuffs he now wore. –Punched in the code and got about two seconds in before _this_ guy…-- Kyle pointed at Danny, who was watching this with confused interest. --…decided to scare me.—

"The hell was that?" Danny asked.

"You tried to jump him?" Oliver asked, staring at the bespectacled man.

"Hey, you mind if we ask some questions now?" Danny retorted. "Like, what the hell was that, for starters?"

"You've never seen sign language being spoken?"

"He's deaf?!" Flack asked.

"Damn near profoundly," Oliver replied. "He said you tried to jump him after he entered in the access code."

"Tampering with evidence is a crime, sir," Stella pointed out.

"I know. He wasn't tampering."

"And you know this how?" Danny challenged.

"Detectives, we too have to rely on evidence to do our jobs. Kyle and Chase and I, we'd lose more than our licenses if we were found to be guilty of tampering."

"Such as?" Flack asked.

"Our clearances, for one."

"Like…government clearances?" Flack wondered.

"Precisely." The three detectives watched as Oliver kept staring through the glass towards the elevator, as though he were waiting for something.

"Somethin' out there that's interestin' to you?" Danny asked.

"Like I said, I'm waiting on someone," Oliver replied, the pensive look on his face telling more than he was saying.

"Yeah, us too." Soon the elevator opened, and two men walked off—the familiar figure of Mac Taylor and a giant-looking walrus of a man who was surprisingly agile considering his weight.

"Someone was trying to tamper with evidence?" Mac said as he entered the office. The walrus-man followed, and the look on Oliver's face brightened a little.

"Yeah, this guy," Danny said, pointing at Kyle. "Got rid of Adam's red screen, and who knows what else…"

"What were you doing in there?" the former Marine asked Kyle, who remained sitting on the sofa. Mac's eyes widened in surprise as the suspect's hands began moving animatedly.

"He says he tracked your hit in the national database on whatever you found out there," Oliver said, translating as though it were second nature. "That brought us here, and he wants to know if you found her."

"Okay, two questions—who are you, and who is 'her'?"

Oliver handed out another card and made his explanations. "The 'her' is a woman named Chase Davis—she's a private investigator. Her—our—firm handles a lot of government contracts, hence the added security and the need for clearance codes."

"Contracts?" Stella wondered. "Like…"

"No, ma'am, nothing like that. We find things out for the government—think domestic intelligence, things like that. We take on private clients too, so we run the gambit pretty much."

"And Miss Davis was working in New York?" Mac asked.

"Yes, she was," the walrus-man replied, his thick European accent extremely noticeable. "She was working for my office."

"And you are?"

"Joshua 'ollenbeck," the man said by way of introduction. He too handed over a card, as well as credentials.

"Counterterrorism?" Mac read, his eyes questioning. "There something we need to know, Agent Hollenbeck?"

Josh fell silent a moment. _Enough with the sizing up_, Danny wanted to shout. _We're not the ones keepin' secrets here… _Finally the man spoke. "The man who found thees eveedence on Mlle. Davis…where ees he?"

"Danny, go get Adam," Mac said, his tone clearly no-nonsense. To Josh, the man asked, "Why?"

"Eet ees better that all the pairsons to be eenvolved know at once," Josh said simply. Looking around the office, Josh knew instantly that there would be no decent chair that could hold his weight, so he stood uncomfortably while waiting on this 'Adam' that had come close to finding the missing woman.

"There a timeline?"

"Yes. What eet ees, this we do not know."

"Chase was trying to find out," Oliver added. "Then she didn't check in."

"She always does this?" Flack asked.

"It's a rule we have. There's always a check-in, once a day, usually around 10am. Sometimes we can't say what we're doing, but we call to show things are under control."

"She missed?"

"Yes. Then your man put out the request…" Oliver shook his head. "Look, she's, um…well-trained, and experienced," he explained. "If she's not calling in, or trying to get word back somehow, something's seriously wrong." Oliver looked pensive again, as though there were a thousand questions he wanted to have answered.

"You were at that scene, Flack," Mac asked. "Was there a woman there?"

"Nope. Our vics were all male."

"Where was this?"

"Hold on," Mac said, holding a hand out. "Not until we get some answers first." Just then Danny returned, a very nervous Adam following behind. "Now, Agent Hollenbeck," the lab supervisor said. "I think you need to fill us in a little."

"And Chase?" Oliver asked.

"Right now she's a missing person," Mac said. "The more information we have on what she was doing, the better our chances of finding her."

Josh sighed, though there was something about this little group of people that said that the experienced agent could trust them. "Very well. Mlle. Davis was seairching for a sheepment of exploseeves, to be sold to a potential terrorist organization for a 'demonstration'—one to be shown in thees ceety."

"Like an attack?" Stella asked.

"We theenk so, yes."

"And you didn't use your people in-house because…" Flack wondered.

"They are all well-trained—I see to this myself—but Mlle. Davis 'as the tracking experience that was necessary."

"So she was looking for the shipment, and tailing the buyer?"

"Yes."

"Which means there's more to that scene in Chinatown than we thought, Mac," Danny said. "We can go back…"

"Yes, please," Oliver said. "If I may, may I join you there? Later, perhaps?"

Mac looked at the young man, trying to stay professional though he knew the worry that lie beneath his staid countenance. "All right," he said. "We're open to a joint investigation—but we make the arrests."

"Of course," Oliver said, overriding his large friend's hint of a protest. "We just want to find her, and stop this from happening. What now?"

"Adam," Mac said as Stella headed out with Danny and Flack. "Why don't you tell us what you found on that computer…"


	5. Chapter 5

**Usual disclaimers.

* * *

**

The heat was unbearable. Chase's focus was beginning to wane as the hours passed, and her desire for water was becoming more and more desperate.

_Why are these people keeping me?_ she wondered, her mind beginning to wander into some strange places as she lay immobile on the old, worn mattress. She'd tried screaming, then calling out, but the thick dry cloth in her mouth was performing its job admirably. There were no windows in the little room—none that she could see, anyway—and the pitch black was beginning to settle into her vision. Now the tiny slit of light that the door provided blinded her rather than giving her something to work from. _Nothing good comes from it…and if I die, there'll be even more hell to pay for them…_

The drilling and clanging sounds outside the door had ceased some while ago—how long she couldn't tell. There was no day or night, or even the passing of hours in this stale, dark space; only the passing of an immeasurable time lapse that could be seconds or minutes or even days. Chase's throat was unbearably dry, and the chance that the young woman could bring her some water dissipated when the lock had been installed.

_The girl's not a threat,_ Chase thought. _Not to me, not to them—so why is this asshole locking me inside a room I already can't escape? Control? He maybe likes the idea of having a 'prisoner' he can hold power over?_

A memory floated to the surface, one from the alley earlier—the sound of a voice calling out to the buyers she'd been following. The words were a mystery, but the tone and the pitch of the voice… _It was him,_ she realized. _This idiot holding me was the one who started that firefight…but why? _A thousand possible answers raced through her muddled mind, none of them any better than the last.

_Focus,_ Chase scolded herself. _Those buyers are still out there, and you've got to get word back to Kyle and Ollie that you've lost them. Question is, how?_

-----

"Girlie, what'd I tell you 'bout staying away from that door?" Mike called out, catching Ling Ling trying to open the weathered, splintering door to the back bedroom. "Nothing in there that concerns you."

"Hot," Ling Ling replied, her broken English worse than ever. "She need water."

"She don't need nothing. Now, get."

Ling Ling pulled on the door once more, knowing the effort was futile. She herself had spent many an hour in that little room—for 'punishment,' as these men called it, when she disobeyed them. Soon Ling Ling quietly shuffled off to the small closet-sized room she was allowed to keep, closing the door behind her.

"Hey, Mike," Eddie said, watching as Ling Ling shut her door. "What if she's right? That dame dies in there, and we've got problems."

"Christ, Ed, you're worse than the girl. Gave her a chance to cooperate, and she didn't wanna play. She can sit a couple more hours and think about her 'options,' I say." With that, Mike flipped on the television, allowing the motion and lights on the screen to take his mind off of his current predicament for a while.

Eddie sat on the sofa, his mind a blur from the drugs and the alcohol he'd partaken in earlier. The heat stuck to the back of his neck, making him sweat like a pig in a sauna, and threatening to roast him in his own skin. "Gimme the key," he said suddenly, holding his hand out.

Mike looked at him as though he'd discovered aliens in his living room. "Well, look who grew a pair. What, suddenly you're all worried 'bout that dame?"

"Mike, I'm roasting in my shorts here, and we've got windows. Even Girlie's got a window in her room, small as it is. That dame roasts to death, and we've got a problem!"

"Then we trash her and move," Mike said simply. "Get bent."

"Gimme the key, or I'm takin' an axe to the door."

"Like hell." Mike continued staring off into space, his attention only partially captured by the television.

"One glass of water. She dies, you don't get your information or whatever the hell it is you're lookin' for."

The face of the older man contorted, but with anger at being one-upped rather than fury. "If it'll shut you the hell up," Mike snapped finally, storming to the kitchen. He retrieved a large plastic cup and filled it two-thirds full, then stormed back out to the living room. "Here. You're so damn worried about it, you take it into her." He unlocked the padlock on the door and threw it open, allowing the light from the floor lamp nearby to trickle into the dark cavern-like room. "Go on!"

Eddie snatched the cup from Mike's hand and stormed in, slamming the door behind him. The sounds of Mike walking back to the couch and settling in rang across the floorboards, and Eddie ran his hands along the small night table he knew was next to the bed, looking for the roll of packing tape. Once he found it, he leaned over the woman lying below him and pulled the tape and cloth from her mouth.

"Now what?" she whispered, her voice faint.

"Sit up," Eddie said sternly.

"W-why?"

"You want this water or not?"

"Y-yes, please…"

"Then sit up."

A tired sigh escaped the woman's lips. Eddie could hear her try to position herself to sit up, but after a few minutes a cry of frustration crept over the thick stale air. "I can't," she panted, heaving short but deep breaths. "I can't…my arms…"

"Jesus," Eddie complained. He found the collar of her shirt and used it to find her shoulders, then hoisted the woman to a sitting position. The rattle of chains sounded against the metal bed frame, and more deep breaths heaved out of the woman's lungs as she steadied herself on the mattress. Holding out the cup, he said, "Here. Drink." The sound of quick gulps told Eddie that he'd found her mouth. Within a minute the glass was drained.

"Please, may I have some more?" the woman asked, her voice still quiet. The heat in the room was oppressive, and Eddie felt as though he were cooking slowly in his own flesh.

"We'll see. First I got a couple questions."

"What?"

"What were you doin' out there?"

"Come on. I already told your friend out there—I was there on business."

"Those other guys." Eddie heard the bed squeak a little, and he assumed it was the woman nodding.

"Yeah," she panted, the heat starting to get to her. "Listen, I'm not going to be any use to you dead…you think maybe I c-could get some air?"

"I don't have the keys to those cuffs."

A long sigh escaped the woman's lips. "How about giving me a break then, huh? Let me stretch my arms out a little?"

Eddie thought about the consequences of that. He knew he wasn't working on all eight cylinders—his high and his binge had seen to that—but he knew that the woman might try something if he gave in. "How do I know you won't try somethin'?"

"Seriously, pal," the woman panted, her voice still a whisper. "I'm not going anywhere. No keys, re-remember?" The soft sound of breathing filled the room, and Eddie could tell that whatever fight was in the woman was being tempered by the oppressive heat and her exhaustion.

"All right. Just for a minute." Eddie peeled the tape from the woman's wrists, and she exhaled in amelioration as she moved her hands from behind her back and stretched them out, working the sore muscles that had been threatening to wither and atrophy in place. "Oh, my God," he heard her say quietly. "Thank you."

"Yeah, whatever. Don't get any ideas."

"I won't." The two sat in silence for a few minutes, neither one quite sure what to make of the other.

"What were those guys doing there?" Eddie murmured, his thoughts getting the better of him.

"It was a buy. You startled them."

"Our turf."

"Doesn't matter. They…they might be looking for you."

"Might?"

The sound of cloth brushing against itself floated in the thick air. "I don't know," she whispered. "If they are…"

Eddie didn't like the sound of that. "All right, enough. Come on." He stood up, grabbing the roll of packing tape off of the night table. "Time to put you back the way you were."

"No…please…" the woman begged. "I can't run…"

"No. You might scream, or try something. Come on. Don't make me use this," he said tapping his fingers on the handgun he'd lifted off of the woman earlier.

The woman held silent a second, though she continued to shy away from him. "Not be-behind my back, please," she pleaded. "They're so sore…"

The man thought about that a minute. "All right," he acquiesced. "You don't behave, and back they go. Got me?"

"Y-yes."

Eddie then took the woman's wrists into his hands, crossed them on top of each other, and then wound the tape around them several times. When she tried to lift her hands to her mouth, she couldn't reach. Satisfied that she couldn't free herself, Eddie replaced the cloth and wound fresh tape around her head to keep it in place. The only sounds that came from the woman were soft whimpers and the sound of labored breathing through her nose. The heat still hovered over every inch of the room, threatening to swallow the people trapped inside of it whole. As soon as he finished, Eddie took the cup and left, making sure to lock the door behind him.

-----

"I found these hairs stuck to a dumpster in that alley," Adam began as he led Mac, Oliver, Kyle (who had been released from his handcuffs) and Josh towards the trace lab. "They all came back to the same woman—Miss Davis."

"An alley," Oliver mused. "In Chinatown, you said?"

"Uh, yeah. First I thought we might be missing a body, you know—someone who got caught in the crossfire, but we didn't find any blood near that part of the scene."

"So Chase might have gotten it caught on the dumpster and pulled it out as she ran," Mac said.

"That's what I'm hoping," Adam said. "Danny was running the bullets, and we haven't gotten to the blood evidence or that gray stuff I found yet."

"Gray stuff?" Josh asked, his interest now piqued. "May I see?"

Looking at Mac, who nodded once, Adam went to retrieve the item in question. It looked like a hunk of grayish clay substance that had been half-sliced and half-torn off of a larger portion of the strange compound. The European held it in his hands, studying it with his eyes. "Eet looks like exploseeve," he said after a minute. "Plastique, pairhaps?"

"Or C4," Mac said, taking the evidence from Josh. He cut a small sliver of the substance from the larger sample and then ran it through the MSGS. Several minutes later, the machine beeped. When Mac hit a few keys, a graphic display appeared on the screen, showing the group the makeup of the compound.

"C4," Mac said finally. "And from the looks of this piece we have, a lot of it."

"That's…that's gotta be at least a twenty pound brick, maybe?" Adam asked, staring at the few ounces Mac had set on the workstation. "I-I don't know…"

"Yeah. Twenty pounds easy," the former Marine replied.

"This is not looking good," Oliver said. "Do you mind if I join the others at the scene? I was always better at field work…"

"'e was," Josh concurred. "I should know."

"Why's that?" Adam said.

"Because Oh-lee-vair used to work for me. Nine years."

That tidbit of information wasn't lost on Mac. "They're in Chinatown. I'll call Flack, get the address."

"Thank you." To his colleague, Oliver signed, --Why don't you see if you can't help here? I have a feeling they're going to hit more of those 'brick walls' we tend to run into…--

Kyle nodded. He waved at Adam and then took the notebook Stella had given him and scribbled a note. _I'm Kyle. How can I help?_

Adam stared at the man as though he were standing in front of him with no clothes on. He didn't really know what to make of him.

"He's deaf, Adam," Mac said. "But apparently a hell of a computer expert."

"Oh." Adam then slowly waved back, then took the notebook from Kyle's hand. _I'm Adam. Is there anything else about your friend we should know?_

_Where do I start?_

As the two began working, Mac turned to Josh. "Sometheeng ees wrong?" the agent asked.

"Too many questions, not enough answers. I'm going to put a couple more people on processing that evidence--"

"You trust them?"

Mac looked at the man solemnly. "With my life."

"Vairy well. I will feel you een on the pairticulars of Mlle. Davis's assignment."

"Let's do that on the way to the morgue," Mac replied, ushering the large man towards the elevator. "I have a feeling one of our vics might tell us something…"


	6. Chapter 6

**Usual disclaimers.

* * *

**

"Okay," Stella said, taking an initial walk-through of the alley. "Why don't you walk me through it so far, Danny?"

"All right. Adam and I get here, the place looks like a war zone. There's bullets everywhere—we collected those—and we've got three vics, one here--" The bespectacled man pointed towards a point near the center of the alley, where a large bloodstain remained visible under the work lights the trio had brought along-- "one here, and one here." Danny pointed out two more large bloodstains on the concrete, these two concentrated towards the back of the alley. "They're with Sid in the morgue, but that first guy, he had some sort of what looked like a gunpowder trace on his clothes."

"First guy have a name?" Flack asked, following along.

"Found a business card on him, no real ID," Danny said. "Said his name was Houjin—Chinese, maybe?"

"Well, this is Chinatown," Flack quipped.

"These two here," Danny continued, pointing towards the end of the alley where Stella was standing, "they had no ID, but they did have a roll of cash on 'em and there was some white powder—Adam and I thought coke."

"You tested?" Stella asked.

"Yeah. Turned out it was, but we didn't get to grade it yet."

"Where did Adam find those hairs, Danny?"

The CSI paced the alley a little, looking over the dumpsters that lay along its walls—there were three of them, one on the left and two on the right. After careful consideration, he pointed to the second one on the right. "There," he replied, kneeling closer to the corner where the evidence had been collected. He pulled a brush and a jar of print powder out of his kit, starting to dust.

"You didn't dust that before?"

"We didn't think much of it before now," Danny defended. "Adam collected the hairs and dusted the immediate area, but I wanna see if maybe someone else touched this thing—maybe surprised our PI friend."

Nearby, Flack was muttering something on the phone, then he quickly hung up. "Hey, that guy Lawrence, he's on his way over."

Stella sighed. "Usually I'd say 'too many cooks,' but this time a fresh pair of eyes couldn't hurt." The very end of the alley had a pile of what looked like gravel, and as Stella walked along the edge she noticed a faint trail of the pebbly substance leading off of the pile, and she flashed her light towards the left side of the alley. An access drive lay behind the building to the left, providing the alley with two methods of entrance and exit. "Hey, Don," Stella called out, and she heard the steps of the detective draw closer. "Look."

"You thinkin' maybe our friend might have been dragged out this way?"

"Well, we're going to find out," the confident woman replied, starting to follow the path of the gravel. "I'm surprised Adam and Danny didn't notice this earlier."

"Well, Stel, it _was_ a war zone back here—make no mistake."

"Still…" The trail ended near the middle of the adjacent building, and Stella noticed two distinct tire impressions. "Someone wanted out of here in a hurry," she mused, taking photographs and measurements.

"Yeah, but how'd they manage to kidnap this woman?" Flack wondered. "I mean, we know there's a firefight going on back there, we know she somehow either tried to run to avoid getting shot or was dragged off…"

"Or maybe both," a new voice said, and both Stella and Flack looked up to see Oliver Lawrence looking at the melted rubber impressions on the concrete. The two New York detectives watched as he started pacing the scenario out, going over the possibilities that might fit the evidence the crime lab had collected. "It's possible she was hiding behind the dumpster, watching her target, and then she got startled by someone behind her—the car people here."

"Okay," Stella said, playing along. "So…she notices that the car people are about to blow whatever she's watching, and that's when the bullets start flying?"

"I deal in theory. You deal in evidence. What does it say, Det. Bonasera?"

Stella took all of the evidence she'd seen and been told about, and tried to piece it together herself. "These people back here, they were moving something too," she decided finally. "The gunpowder was in the front of the alley, the coke in the back."

"Okay, so…maybe the explosives buy was set for the front of the alley, and the coke dealers wandered in?"

"Or…" Flack said, pointing at the distance between the two 'scenes', "maybe the explosives dealers were crashing on someone's turf?"

"Great. Chase gets caught up in a turf war." Oliver shook his head, tossing it back to take in the hazy night sky. "The question still remains: what happened?"

"Think maybe I can help there," Danny called out, standing at the junction of the alley and the back accessway. "Come here."

The trio of detectives came closer as Danny started pointing out some interesting points on the ground. "Looks like your friend Chase wasn't hurt in the firefight," he said, looking at Oliver. "Found no blood we didn't already, but there were some new prints—right here." The bespectacled man pointed out an area just a few inches from the corner of the dumpster where Chase's hairs had been found.

"Like someone grabbed her?"

"Actually, I'm thinkin' they're hers," Danny said. "Running 'em through now."

"Kyle can help with that," Oliver said. "He's granting access to her information as we speak."

"Anyway, I'm thinkin' that she's here, watching," Danny continued, crouching down as he believed Chase Davis might have earlier. "She's watchin' whatever's goin' on up here…"

"The explosives buy," Stella said.

"Right. Then something startles her, and she turns her head like this--" Danny mimicked what he thought might have taken place by turning his head back towards the accessway. "—and she sees there's a real problem."

"We're thinking possibly a turf war," Oliver said, looking at Flack and Stella. "Plausible?"

"Could be. I know dope dealers 'round here are pretty territorial," Flack said. "Our idiots in the back think they're alone, and suddenly they've got company."

"Uninvited and unexpected," Stella added.

"Other than that, I can't find anything else," Danny said.

"Well, I can tell you from experience that Chase isn't easy to kidnap," Oliver said. "In fact, without, ah, _motivation_ she's damn near impossible."

"Really?" Flack's tone held a sarcastic edge to it.

"Really, detective. I should know—it's how I met her."

"Wait…you kidnapped your boss?"

"It's a really, really, _really_ long story, and if it makes any difference I really didn't want to. It was a long time ago."

The three New York detectives looked at each other as though they'd just heard Oliver admit to killing Hoffa. "Oh-kay, moving on," Stella said briskly.

"Anyway, if you say there's no evidence of a struggle then I have to wonder just how they got the jump on her." Oliver started picking through the bits of litter that lay pell-mell around the dumpster cans.

"You thinkin' drugs?" Danny asked.

"Had to be something. Like I said, she's 'well-trained.' Plus I know she had Hector."

"Who's 'Hector'?" Stella asked.

"Not who—what," Oliver said. "Chase's customized H&K, .32 caliber. She loves that thing like you like your lab equipment."

"How customized?"

"Built-in silencer, extended magazine, molded grip so it fits her hand…" Oliver's voice trailed as he began to follow. "I see. Good idea."

"Something that custom gotta have some special licensure," Flack said. "And it'll be tempting to sell on the black market, or keep as a trophy. This 'Hector,' it easy to spot?"

"Standard black, but there's a faux wood grip. I'd know 'Hector' anywhere."

"I'll make some calls," Flack said. "Gun like that's not going to go unnoticed."

"We'll take this stuff back to the lab," Stella said. "Somewhere in the middle of this evidence is a trail."

"Let's just hope we find out where out leads in time," Oliver said, following behind.

-----

A few feet away, Monet stood patiently near the back accessway, taking in the sight of the cops that were lingering too close to his chosen buy spot. He knew better than to walk through while the cops were there, but he managed to hear snatches of their conversation.

_So her name's Chase,_ Monet thought, listening to one of the cops walk through what might have happened to the woman. _Name's useful, if nothing else. _What piqued his interest even more was the description of the woman's weapon—_an elegant piece, and very valuable, _he reasoned. _If I were the jackass who'd blown a major deal, I'd try to take something worth my time as well._

Monet began to replay the scene in his mind. He and three of his crew—Houjin, Moshu and Doc—had waited at the front of the alley, knowing the buyer's men would only be looking at sample merchandise. The plan was to inspect the stock, and then arrange a larger buy for a later date and different location. The buyer's men had come, and the deal was going smoothly until… Monet shook his head at the memory of the hailstorm of bullets that had shown themselves. He then recalled a flash of something black racing from behind a dumpster—_was that her?_ he wondered. _Must've been…_

He tried to recall the attackers, but aside from them being tall and dark-complexioned, he couldn't remember. He remembered a sharp sound of tires squealing, but he hadn't gotten a look at the car.

Soon the cops had vacated the alley, and Monet dared a look. More than once something like this had gone down and he knew that guards were posted to keep 'lookie-loos' out, but this time the space was totally clear. The first rays of dawn were beginning to peek out from underneath the dark blanket of sky, and after several minutes the area became easier to see. He walked over to the farthest bloodstain, remembering Houjin's cry that had escaped him just before he fell to his death. The look on his 'boy's' face—surprise mixed with realization—was an image that would remain with Monet for a long time to come, of that he was sure.

_I'll have to put the word out,_ Monet decided. _My boys can scour this town looking for the woman. A PI by the name of Chase…might have to do some digging, but I'll find her. Perhaps my 'informant' will be of use to me now…_

-----

Chase lay in the stifling room, staring up at what she surmised was the ceiling. Her arms were beginning to 'wake up,' as Kyle called the sensation that took place after parts of the body were deprived of circulation for long periods. The investigator tried pulling her hands towards her mouth to remove the tape from it, but her hands simply wouldn't reach. The man who'd given her the water had been kinder to her than her 'keeper,' but he wasn't completely stupid.

Sweat poured down Chase's forehead, and she desperately wanted to be able to brush it from her face. _I'm roasting like a turkey,_ she thought. Her stomach began to growl softly, though it echoed over the silent room as though it were competing for a spot at the Met. The woman tried bending her bound arms towards her head, and nearly cried in joy as she found she was able to rub her soaked face against the sleeves of her shirt.

_Focus, Chase,_ she thought. _First things first—you've got to get out of here._

The pitch black surroundings forced Chase to imagine what certain things looked like, but she knew with certainty that her ankles were bound around a thick bar in the metal bed frame. Her legs were starting to 'fall asleep' as they were compelled to stay in one position for so long. _At least I still have my shoes,_ she thought, trying to find a little levity to an otherwise bleak situation.

Soon an uncomfortable feeling washed over her, and Chase realized she needed to use a bathroom—and fast. Straining to hear what might be going on outside the room, Chase tried to keep absolutely still as she listened for signs of life. There were no creaks of floorboards, no banging of doors, no other signs that anyone was up. Desperate, Chase began pulling at her cuffs, clanging the metal against the metal anchor they were fastened to, hoping the noise would rouse someone. After a few minutes, she stopped, listening for any sign of life.

_Jesus Christ,_ Chase thought. _Come on… _The woman fought harder, now causing a huge ruckus with the chain of the cuffs clanging and her own shouts, tapered as they were through the gag. _Someone's got to hear me now!_

Finally the door banged open, and strong footsteps drew closer. "Shut the hell up, bitch!" she heard her 'keeper' say, and she reeled from a strike to the face. "You hear me? Shut the hell _up_!"

Chase continued to protest through the gag, her pleas growing more desperate. "Jesus Christ—the _hell_ do you _want_?!" her 'keeper' screamed, pulling the tape and cloth from her mouth.

"Bathroom," Chase cried, her voice weak. "Please, right now."

The sound of hands fumbling in pockets made her take notice. Soon the cuffs were released, and a rough hand grabbed her by the shoulder. "You try anything, bitch, and there won't be time for prayers, you hear me?" he growled.

"Yes, yes," the woman panted. "Please, hurry."

"Hold on," her 'keeper' snapped. Chase felt something being wound around her eyes, and then finally she was pushed forward onto wobbly legs that hadn't been allowed to move in what felt like ages. "Keep going," the man barked, shoving her roughly with each step.

_If I didn't have to go as badly as I do, I'd shut you the hell up, _Chase thought, grimacing as she continued to be pushed blindly through the house. Soon Chase felt one last giant shove and a door close behind her. "Make it quick!" her 'keeper' yelled. The familiar click of a safety catch being released kept her instinct to fight in check. Using her bound hands, she managed to find the toilet and make use of it. "You finished yet?" the man called out, tapping at the door with something—_probably his gun,_ she reasoned.

"N-not yet," she called back. Raising her hands, she used the stiff tape that bound her as a friction point, rubbing the back of her wrists onto the cloth that blinded her. Slowly but surely, the cloth wriggled up her brow and over her forehead. Chase blinked her eyes as she saw her first rays of light in nearly a day. "Oh, my God," she mouthed silently, thankful to have managed this much. She looked quickly around the room, searching for something she could use as a weapon. Aside from a plastic soap dispenser and a ratted towel, there wasn't much.

"That's it," her 'keeper' yelled, turning the doorknob. "Time's up."

Pulling her pants into place, Chase stepped quickly behind the bathroom door. _I've got one shot at this,_ she thought. _And I've got to make it count._


	7. Chapter 7

**Usual disclaimers.

* * *

**

As soon as the door opened, Chase held her breath. _He's got to think I made a run for it,_ she thought. _Gotta get him off guard…_

The man holding her stepped inside, clearing the door and ruining her chance to use the heavy barrier as a weapon. "All right, bitch," he snarled. "I know you're hiding somewhere…" Chase heard the thick shuffling of shoes traipsing over the worn linoleum, and suddenly the door was yanked back into place, exposing her hiding spot.

"Come on," the man mocked. "You really think I'm that stupid?"

"No," Chase said simply. She held her breath, waiting for her moment. Once the man reached in to grab a hold of her shoulders, she lunged at him, using her bound hands as a projectile. The force with which she hit him made the taller man fall to the ground with a deafening _thud_, and he gasped for air. Chase used the precious few seconds to jump over the fallen figure and make a run for it.

"Eddie!" the man screamed, having regained his breath. _"Eddie!"_

"The hell…?" a sleepy voice answered.

"_She's escaping!"_

Chase turned at the sound of a door opening, and the screams of her 'keeper' were drowning out any other noise that might help her find an escape. The woman bolted on wobbly legs for the front of the hall, hoping desperately to make a run for the front door. She barely made it two steps out of the hallway before she jerked backward and fell onto the floor, sprawling her legs like a jumping jack.

"Where do ya think you're goin', girlie?" the other man—Eddie—said menacingly, standing over her like the Tower of London.

Blindly, Chase began kicking out, hoping that one of her attacks would keep these men from retaking her. A strong pair of hands deftly grabbed hold of her legs and quickly bound them with a length of cord. The woman began struggling against her bonds in a panic, and she screamed as loud as she could. _"Help me!" _she cried, hoping against all hope that there was someone nearby to hear her. _"Please, someone help me!" _Soon Chase gasped for air as she felt a foot connect with her empty stomach, and the sudden loss of oxygen made her cough violently.

"I thought I told you to shut the hell up!" her 'keeper' shouted, delivering a few more blows to her legs and back—the investigator had curled up into a ball, trying to protect her stomach. "Can't learn, can you?"

"Let me go!" Chase shouted weakly, her breath not yet fully restored. The young woman started squirming mightily, hoping to work her way to the door. She hadn't gotten more than a few inches when she was grabbed roughly from the floor and hoisted over Eddie's shoulder like a sack of potatoes. Using her bound hands, she struck the man in the back a few times, hoping to hit something that might make him drop her.

"I told you, lady," Eddie said, his voice growing angrier. "You behave, and it goes easier for you. Now, not so much."

"You don't need me," she whimpered, the little strength she'd managed to gain leaving her fast. "I'm not worth anything to…"

Eddie tossed Chase back onto the bed and savagely cut the tape binding her hands. He pulled each one up over her head and used another length of cord to tie them to the metal headboard. Chase heard her 'keeper' shuffle in and refasten the handcuffs around her ankles, making sure the metal bit deep into her flesh.

"Let's see you get out of that, girlie," her 'keeper' snapped, drawing his face closer to hers. "Damn broad's more trouble than she's worth."

"You don't have to keep me…"

"Oh, really? Way Ed here tells it, we might be getting 'visitors' soon," the 'keeper' mocked. "Seems to me maybe they're looking for you, making you all the more useful to us."

Chase couldn't believe what she was hearing. "The police…"

"Haven't heard a peep from 'em yet," her keeper said. "Now, I got business…and you're gonna think a little on how to behave." Chase heard something rustle just before the hateful piece of cloth was shoved once again in her mouth and taped inside. "Now maybe you'll learn to _be quiet,_" he said simply.

"Business, Mike?" Eddie asked as they both walked out of the back bedroom, his voice sounding concerned. "After yesterday?"

"Well, someone's gotta see what's going on," Mike said as he slammed and locked the back bedroom door. "And you're gonna stick out like a sore thumb, with those nice bruises you got there an' all."

Eddie touched his face gingerly, wincing as he felt a couple of tender spots forming along the back of his neck. His back had deep scratches from when the woman had tried digging her nails into his flesh to make him drop her. "What if she's right, man?" he protested. "What if those guys from yesterday figure out we've got her?"

"Then we make an 'arrangement' with 'em," Mike said, as though the answer were obvious. "Pretty sure they'll be more interested in her than us, yeah?"

The taller man shrugged, his face uncertain. "I'm not so sure, Mikey…"

"Trust me. Remember what I said about you thinkin'?"

"Yeah. I know." Eddie sighed as Mike headed for the front door. "Hey," he said, almost as an afterthought. "What if somethin' happens to you?"

"Then run like hell."

"I mean, what about her?" Eddie clarified, pointing his thumb at the now-locked bedroom door.

"Let 'er cook," Mike said simply.

"No, Mike. Can't do that. Keepin' her's one thing, but…" Eddie held out his hands for the key. "Just in case," he said softly.

"Ed, there are days I forget your momma taught you manners," Mike said. "Fine. She escapes, and I'll beat your ass."

"Fine with me." Eddie took the key in his hand, placing it in his pocket next to the woman's handgun.

"I shouldn't be too long," Mike said, pulling the door open. "Hopefully I'll have some answers."

-----

"Cause of death was a single gunshot wound on all three vics," the voice of Sid Hammerback was explaining to both Mac and Josh. "On our Asian friend, the bullet entered the aortic valve, severing it; on our friends over here, the bullets entered the brain and the stomach respectively."

"So one instantaneous death, one painful and one just bled out?" Mac asked.

"Precisely. I found a business card on this one here--" Sid motioned to the young Asian man that now lay out on his table. "Said his name was 'Houjin'?"

"Mmm. 'Fire God'."

Josh looked at Mac inquisitively. "You know Chinese?"

"A little."

"Ah."

"The name seems appropriate, in any case," Sid continued, "as I also found some strange trace under his fingernails—I sent it up to the lab already, should be back anytime. There was also some residue that was on his hands, an oily substance. Oh, and this," he added, turning the cadaver's hands over slightly. Mac and Josh were treated to the sight of a grayish substance that had streaked over the back of the victim's hands—the same color as the C4 compound they'd examined earlier.

"It's safe to assume that this is one of our explosives dealers," Mac said with some certainty. "Prints?"

"Sent 'em up with the trace."

"What about these fellows?" Josh asked, moving his eighth of a ton mass over towards the other two corpses—one a blonde, skinny kid in his late teens, another slightly older and more filled out. "Were they also eenvolved een the 'deal'?"

"My guess would be no," Sid said, "though I can't say with any certainty. I did notice significant perforating of the nasal cavities on each of them…"

"Addicts," Mac said. "Question is, what?"

"I also found a white powder underneath the nails—again, sent to trace. My best guess is that these two were into coke rather than heroin. Tox panels should confirm that."

"So, what air two addicts doing een an alley weeth a group of exploseeves dealers?" Josh asked.

"I highly doubt a deal for goods," Mac replied. "These three couldn't be more different."

"Pairhaps your colleagues can tell us more?"

"I hope. Thanks, Sid."

"Anytime."

-----

"Okay," Adam said, heaving a sigh as the last of the fingerprint lifts began to run. "Any idea what these people have in common?" The lab tech looked at his companion, who continued to have his head stuck into the personal laptop he'd plugged into the New York Police Department's network. Suddenly remembering, Adam tapped Kyle on the shoulder, causing the investigator to face him.

--"What?"—

Adam reached for the notepad. _Any connections on these guys?_

_Are these all the prints?_

_Yes,_ Adam wrote. _All the ones we collected, anyway._

Kyle pored through his laptop, pulling certain files and placing them up on the touchscreen monitor that sat in front of Adam. _These four are knows arms and explosives dealers,_ he typed, making use of an internal IM system the crime lab had. _The head of the group is Caldwell Duchens, street name 'Monet.'_

Adam laughed. "He likes art?"

Kyle shrugged. _Maybe the sight of water lilies. Who knows? _Refocusing, he continued. _Monet's crew is knows for dealing in mid-size shipments, mostly explosives and small arms—handguns, pistols, etc._

_And you think these are the people your friend was tracing?_

Kyle shrugged again. _Possibly. I doubt that these people are the 'big fish' though._

"Big fish?" Now Adam looked puzzled.

_If Josh is hiring us to track these guys, they have to be doing something big. From the looks of things, Monet and his crew are just suppliers. _Kyle tapped on the touchscreen to show a list of priors and arrests. The charges ranged from small arms trafficking to explosives, but none of it enough to cause a 'demonstration' of any kind. _Most of these didn't stick, either,_ he added.

_Well, at least we've got a name,_ Adam said. _Maybe this time we can make it stick._

_For Chase's sake, I hope so. _Kyle sighed. _I just wish I knew where she was._

_------_

The alley was deserted. Mike walked in as though he owned the place, which was true to an extent—he'd worked hard to earn the right to call this little strip his own dealing ground, having had to 'eliminate' the previous owner. A few planted bags on the guy had sent him to Sing Sing, and now Mike was contemplating 'expanding' out into the nearby alley next door. He shuffled through the concrete strip, trying to piece together what had happened the day before.

_Came to deal with Larry and his pal, and then we heard those interlopers up at the front,_ he recalled. _Told 'em where to get off, and they started shooting at us. Then the dame pops up after we start defendin' ourselves, and I think maybe there's something here after all. Question is, who were those guys? And why here?_

Mike moved up towards the entrance of the alleyway, standing where he knew the rival dealers had been just a day ago. _Nah, nah,_ he reasoned to himself. _No dealer does his business that close to the street—not where everyone can see them._

_Then again, it was pretty busy. Some festival or somethin' going on…_

Just then a hand fell on Mike's shoulder, and he nearly jumped out of his skin. A flash blinded his eyes and the sight of a sharp-looking knife fell parallel to his throat.

"You," Mike managed to choke out, his eyes growing wide. "The hell are you…"

"One more word and I slit your throat. Do you understand?"

Mike nodded.

"Now," the man said, his voice purring like a cat. "You ruined a business transaction for me yesterday. Stupid of you to return."

"This is my…" Mike fell silent as the blade moved closer to his neck.

"I'm not interested in turf wars. Right now I have a pissed off buyer, and he's looking for blood. Tell me right now why I shouldn't give him yours."

"The girl, right? You're lookin' for that dame?"

The man's eyes glistened with interest. "I'm listening."

Mike heaved deep, ragged breaths. "Look, I got her. You want her, she's yours."

"And?"

"And what?"

"What strings are attached?" The man's voice never wavered, and it was cool and collected as his face moved closer to Mike's.

"Nothing. Just stay out of this spot."

The man's brow furrowed, as though he were considering the offer. "Very well. You will take me to the girl now."

"She's…she's not here," Mike said. "She's in Queens."

"Then I want an address."

Mike gave it. "Give me two hours?"

"Two hours. If she is not produced…"

"You'll have her. Two hours."

"See that I do." Mike heaved a sigh of relief as the man released him from his grip and sheathed his blade. _Two hours…_

-----

"Duchens, huh?" Mac said. He was in the print lab, poring over the progress that Adam and Kyle had made.

--Yes,-- Kyle signed, looking at his 'host.' Turning to the computer, he wrote, _He'd be the person I'd try to find. Worst case scenario, he's a little upset at being hauled in, but best case we can find Chase and the people behind the planned attack._

"I agree, Detective Taylor," Josh concurred. "I must admit, there seems to be enough eveedence to warrant thees." The portly man then shrugged a little. "Though the nature of such eveedence ees not my forte."

"Surely you have evidence when you bring in people for questioning?" Mac asked, looking at the older man with a bit of surprise.

"Of course. I mean to say that I am not cairtain what the standard ees for thees particular area. Een othair words, 'how much eveedence ees enough'?"

Mac sat back a moment. "I'd like to wait until Danny and Stella get back—they might have found something more concrete than fingerprints and a couple of hairs."

"The fingerprints aren't…" Adam began to argue, and then he stopped. "Oh. I get it. Someone could argue that they were left earlier, before the gunfight," he said slowly.

Kyle frowned. _We're waiting? _

Mac was certain to look directly at Kyle as he spoke. "Yes."

The younger man shook his head. _I don't like it. What if something's happening to her right now, as we speak? Couldn't we at least bring in this Duchens character, see what he has to say?_

_If we do, he can clam up or get a good lawyer, _Mac typed into the IM program. _If we've got concrete proof, then he might open up._

_I like it better when we just threaten to shoot them, _Kyle replied.

Mac gave the young man a questioning look. "What?"

_Never mind. Sometimes I get a little carried away._

Just then the familiar faces of Mac's right-hand woman and their colleague floated in off the elevator. Oliver Lawrence followed closely behind them. "Mac, the evidence from the scene is telling us that the firefight was over a turf war, not a deal gone bad," Stella called out as the two groups met in the hallway.

"Really?"

"Found more prints, Adam," Danny said, handing over his lifts. "See who these might belong to, huh?"

"On it," Adam said, turning to the scanner.

"Any luck with Sid?"

"One of the _messrs. _ees clearly eenvolved weeth the exploseeves dealairs," Josh told them.

"Hawkes and Lindsay are running that trace now, but it's safe to say that Agent Hollenbeck may be right."

"And the other two?" Danny asked.

"Addicts. Wrong place, wrong time."

"Nah. We're thinkin' that they're the reason the gunfight went down in the first place," Danny contradicted. He pulled out the sketch of the alley he'd made when he first visited the scene, and then the 'modified' one he'd drawn up during the second visit. "See, Adam and I concentrated on this area here," Danny explained, pointing to the section of the alley where the firefight had taken place. "Most of the evidence was situated around this part, but when we went back Stella and Flack noticed that there was an accessway in the back that we'd missed."

Mac looked sternly at his employee. "You missed this?"

"Like I said, we thought the action was here," Danny defended, pointing at his drawing. "You would have too."

"Detectives Flack and Bonasera discovered that a car had been waiting in the accessway, possibly there for a drug buy," Oliver added. "There was evidence of a gravel trail that led to a pair of tire marks in the area."

"It's possible that Chase Davis was dragged to the waiting car by whoever was trying to make the drug deal," Stella pointed out. "The evidence is telling us that that's the most likely scenario to have taken place." The tall Greek woman began to scan the crime scene photos into the computer, then arranged them to create the 'whole picture' that the group was looking for.

"Well, we got a name," Mac said. "Caldwell Duchens, street name 'Monet'."

"Like 'Water Lilies'?" Danny said, a note of surprise in his voice.

"Yes," Josh replied. "Thees eendividual may 'ave eenformation on what 'as 'appened to Mlle. Davis, and could vairy well be the supplier for thees 'operation' she was trying to bring down."

Adam hurried back into the room, panting. "These prints do not belong to Caldwell Duchens or the rest," he said breathlessly.

"They don't," Mac said.

"No. But they are in our system." Adam leaned in and punched a few keys on the computer terminal, bringing up a mug shot. "Meet Michael Damon, busted three times on misdemeanor drug charges and once for possession with intent. He's out now, and we've got a last known on him…"

"I would very much like to speak with this man," Oliver said. "If nothing else, he can maybe point us in the direction we need to go."

"Um, Mr. Lawrence?" Adam asked, suddenly growing very timid.

"You can call me Oliver. I prefer it." Oliver smiled kindly at the tech, whom he realized was nervous and possibly slightly intimidated by him.

"Okay, Oliver," Adam corrected himself. "This guy's prints? They were in the batch Danny just gave me a second ago."

"Means he was the one at that dumpster," Danny said. "Only place I pulled prints."

"Call Flack, get a warrant," Mac said. "Oliver, you and Danny come with me. Stella, follow up on this Duchens guy—I want cause for a warrant, fast."

"You got it," Stella said, heading in the direction of the trace lab. Josh turned and followed her close behind.

----

Chase lay on the bed, cursing herself for allowing herself to be caught. She twisted her wrists, hoping that the cord would loosen under the strain and allow her to pull free from them. All she received for her effort was excruciating pain from the cord cutting into her flesh and a slowly crumbling spirit. Frustrated, she gave up, settling herself back into a slightly more comfortable position. The oppressive heat still hung in the air like a thick cloud, and within minutes of being thrown back into this dungeon she felt the beads of sweat pouring down her flesh.

_Christ, it's like a sauna in here,_ she mused. _Is this what Hell is like?_

The woman's black mood lingered, with thoughts racing on how she'd screwed up her one chance to escape this nightmare and find help—or better, pick up the trail of these potential terrorists she had been contracted to stop. _Stubborn crackheads! _Chase thought darkly. _If only they'd listen to reason…_

Chase's mood was so bleak she barely noticed the door creak open a while later, the trickle of light from the living room growing wider. Soon the bright rays hit her irises, and a shadow loomed closer to her. The woman warily turned her head up, trying to get a better look at the person standing before her.

"Here, eat," a female voice said softly. Chase heaved a relieved sigh as Ling Ling removed her gag and held something out in front of her.

"My hands," Chase said gently, trying not to scare the girl. "I can't sit up…I'll choke."

"Turn on side. Then eat."

Sighing, Chase did as she was told. She felt the piece of food being offered to her—a spoonful of rice—and she chewed it slowly before swallowing. "Thank you," the investigator said, keeping her voice soft.

"Welcome."

Chase took another bite. "Ling Ling, could I ask a favor?"

The girl sat silent for a moment. Chase thought she could hear the girl's head turning towards the door, which had purposefully been left open as though someone needed to watch. "Yes," the younger woman said finally. "What favor?"

"I need to write a note—a note to my friends…"

"No. No untie. I hurt, I do this."

_They'll beat her, _Chase realized. _That's what she's afraid of. _"Okay," she said slowly, keeping her voice at a whisper. "How about if I tell you what to write? Then no untie."

The sounds of a chair shifting slightly caught Chase's ears. "What to say?" she heard finally.

"Make it say 'Oliver, I've been kidnapped. Found possible buyers. Chinatown'." The woman paused a moment, then asked, "What's the address here?"

"Address?" Ling Ling seemed confused.

"The number, on the house, and the street…"

"Oh." Ling Ling whispered the information to the bound captive.

"Put that too. Please?"

"I put down."

"Thank you," Chase said. "The last thing I want is my name—Chase Davis."

"Spell, please." Chase did so, praying her ruse wasn't being spied on by rogue ears. "Finish," Ling Ling said.

"Oh, thank you," the older woman said, her voice nearly cracking in joy. "Can I ask one more favor?"

"Ask."

"Can you take that to a police station? Please?"

"I no leave. I get hurt."

"Can you try? Please, these men—they'll kill me…"

Ling Ling caught the desperation in the woman's voice. She sighed too. "Okay. I try."

A soft sob escaped Chase's throat. Her joy at the chance of being discovered was overwhelming.

"Now, eat," Ling Ling said sternly, shoving the spoon full of rice towards the older woman's mouth. Chase quietly accepted the bite, her emotions too stirred up to talk more.

-----

Two hours had passed. Monet stood outside the address the dealer had given him, watching. Several members of his 'crew' were also standing watch, in different locations. All of them were within sight, and all knew the signal they were to wait for.

"Need to make sure this is the right place," Monet told his right hand man, a Chinese kid who called himself Moshu—'Magic.' "If that dude gave us the slip…"

"No worries, boss," Moshu said. "Loo says there's at least two people in there—one man and a girl, a Chinese."

"Hmm. Might make some use of her," Monet thought aloud, his mind beginning to wander. "Nothing until I get confirmation the dame the buyer's looking for is in there, understand?"

"No go until the all-clear. Got it."

Monet settled near a tree on the corner of the street and began to wait. It was the waiting that was always the hardest part.


	8. Chapter 8

**Usual disclaimers.

* * *

**

"Nervous?"

"Hmm?" Oliver said, being pulled out of his train of thought. The investigator was tapping his foot on the floor of the black Avalanche, staring out the window at the passing streets of New York. "Oh," he said, quieting his trembling limbs. "Yeah. Nervous as to what we'll find, I guess."

"Hey, I would be too," Danny said, looking towards the back. "How long you say you worked with this woman?"

Oliver thought a moment. "About four years," he said after a minute.

"You in love with her?"

That statement got everyone's attention. "Makes you say that, Danny?" Mac asked, keeping his focus on driving. The last of the early morning rush hour had dissipated a couple of hours earlier, and now the morning sun was beaming heavily on its rise towards high noon.

"Yes," Oliver said. "I wonder that myself."

"I dunno—just a feeling I get," Danny mumbled. "I know if it were Montana instead of your girl, I'd probably be just as nervous as you are."

"You're worried over an entire state?"

Mac chuckled. "Nah. Just a certain crime scene investigator back at the lab. One who happens to come from Montana."

"Quiet," Danny said, blushing a little.

Oliver chuckled. "Yeah, I guess I am. Chase and I…we've been through a lot. I know I'd trust her with my life. I know she trusts me with hers." The Avalanche stopped in the middle of the street, and Oliver could hear horns honking madly. "I just don't want to let her down, you know?"

"Know the feeling," Danny said. "Like I said, if this were Montana, I'd be going insane." Danny turned further to get a look at his new friend, who despite the shaking feet was rather collected. "You're takin' this pretty well, I'd say."

"Honestly, this isn't the first time we've worked a kidnapping. They seem to be a sub-specialty of ours. Particularly those concerning one of ours and our enemies."

"You have a lot of those in New York?" Mac asked, grateful to have a segue into the subject.

"In all honesty, I've been here maybe twice, and both times just for a visit. I'm not sure if Chase's been here before, but I'd guess that she has. As far as I know, most of our contacts are down near D.C. and Virginia, where we're from."

"You don't sound like a Southerner," Mac said. "If I had to guess, I'd say Ohio, really."

"Close. Michigan. Not bad, coming from a man from Chicago."

"How'd you…?" Mac asked, slightly impressed.

"Great Lakes accent. Plus I did a little research on your lab on the flight over—it is kind of what we do, Detective Taylor."

"Mac. Please."

"Okay. Mac."

Danny shook his head slightly. "Remind me never to get on your bad side," he quipped. "Don't want you findin' out all my dirty laundry…me dealin' with it's bad enough!"

Oliver just smiled and went back to staring out at the street. Outside the traffic began to slowly move, the congestion easing as the three detectives made their way towards their intended destination.

----

"The hell happened here?" Danny said, noticing the door to their suspect's house left wide open.

"I don't know," Oliver said. "I'll go around, see if there's a back door…"

In the front, Mac and Danny readied their sidearms and carefully stepped inside the structure, announcing themselves. The only sounds they could hear were those of Oliver's footsteps coming through the back door.

"Damn," the visitor said, holding the back of his hand to his nose. The three looked around at the blood-spattered and bullet-riddled walls that served as a prelude to the corpses lying sprawled on the floor. "Chasie!" he called out, hoping for a response but receiving no reply. "Oh, God…"

"Split up," Mac said, carefully lowering his gun. "Oliver, take the hall, Danny, the kitchen and the back." As the younger men turned to inspect the other rooms, Mac pulled out his cell phone and made calls to the crime lab and to Flack. Just then a shout from Oliver made the seasoned scientist take notice.

"We've got a live one!"

Mac hurried into a tiny room just off the hall, nearly hitting Oliver with the door as he saw the younger man kneeling next to what looked like the body of a young woman. She was Asian, and kept reaching for something Mac couldn't see.

"Hang on, okay?" Oliver said. "Some help?!" he said, letting the rest of his sentiment die as he saw Mac calling for an ambulance.

"Lady…" the girl kept mumbling. "The lady…" Her fingers kept reaching for something, but Oliver couldn't tell what it was.

"Hey, stay with me, okay?" Oliver gently prodded. "What about the lady? She do this to you?"

"The lady…they…take her…"

"Okay," Oliver said, trying to put pressure on the young girl's wound—a bullet hole to the chest. "Okay, just hang on…" In frustration, he screamed, "Where the hell's the medic?!"

"Step back," Mac said sharply, kneeling in. Oliver refused to move, fearful that if he did they might lose their one good witness to where Chase had been taken, if she was even still alive. "Step back," the older detective said, nearly gnashing the words out of his mouth. Reluctantly, Oliver moved slightly, keeping pressure on the girl's wound but allowing Mac access. He watched as Mac began working what looked like field medicine on the girl, stopping the gush of blood from her wound and managing to keep her slightly stable. "Go out there and finish the hall," Mac said sternly, realizing Oliver was starting to go into panic mode.

"O-Okay," he said haltingly, moving slowly towards the exit. The sound of calculated footsteps and squeaking doors told the lab supervisor that the younger man was trying to refocus on the task at hand. The sound of labored breathing rang through Mac's ears, and he saw the girl still trying to reach for something. "What is it?" he asked, trying to follow where her hand was pointing.

"There," she breathed, still pointing towards the corner of the room. "Paper…" Finally the girl fell limp, and Mac realized that she was running out of time.

"No, no, come on…stay with me," Mac said sternly, his best Marine voice now in play. Soon the sound of sirens filled his ears, and the high-pitched whine sounded like chimes to the man. Footsteps raced in behind him, and soon the girl was being wired with tubes and hoisted out on a stretcher. "Oliver!" Mac called out, and in seconds the dark-haired investigator raced from the back of the hall. "Go with her. If she wakes up, we'll need a statement."

"On it," Oliver said at once, climbing into the back of the ambulance as it started to speed off.

Mac finally took a breath and studied the scene. Aside from the girl's blood covering the small bedroom, the room itself was pretty spare. A small chest sat in one corner of the room, a twin bed with only a simple frame on the other. A mirror hung on one wall, now spattered with blood. A small night table sat underneath it, and it was here that the girl had kept pointing. A few scattered bits of paper littered the small surface, and one of them had smears of blood on it. Mac picked it up and began to read it, only to find it was written in Chinese characters. On the bottom of the scrap, however, was a very clear name at the bottom—_Chase Davis._ The name looked as though it had been carefully written by a hand not used to Arabic-style lettering. The note made its way into an evidence bag, and Mac began to process the rest of the room.

-----

"I'm telling ya, Flack, I've found more razor blades and coke in this room than we found in a thousand feet of that scene in Brooklyn a while back," Danny said, continuing to process the living room. The two corpses had been claimed by the M.E.'s office, and Hawkes was going to look in on them back at the morgue.

"Real charmer, this place," the detective concurred. "I mean, who doesn't like a little coke in their morning cereal?"

"If this place is where that Davis gal was kept, I'd hate to think what they might have forced on her," Danny murmured softly.

"Any sign of her?"

"There wasn't a body," Danny said simply. "We can only assume that _this_ is because of her."

"Yeah, but how?" Flack asked. "I did a little checking on this woman, and there's not much…"

"Yeah. Her deaf friend said as much back at the lab." Danny continued to dust for prints and keep his eyes peeled for trace.

"Not that kind of 'much,' Danny," his friend countered. "I'm talkin' like the governor himself would need permission from up on high to access this woman's stats and bio."

Danny whistled. "Makes me wonder what she's capable of," he said. Then he remembered his conversation with Oliver on the way over, and his feelings tempered a bit. "Still, I'm not sure this was her that did this."

"How so?"

"Too many prints, for one," Danny replied, pulling his thirtieth lift off of a wall in the living room. "We know there had to be four people in the house that belonged here—Chase Davis, the owner, the girl Mac had sent out and his buddy that was layin' next to him." Danny prepared another lift and pulled the print, adding, "There's just way too many prints here for this to be a one man—or woman—show."

"The hell?" Stella said, walking in. "World War Three?"

"Nah, that was yesterday," Danny quipped. "Welcome to World War Four."

"Where should I start?"

"Take the back," Danny said, wondering where Mac had gone. "I've got my hands full with this room and the kitchen, and I think Mac's still working the bedrooms down that hall over there."

"He is," Flack said. "I saw Lawrence go out with the girl."

"There was a live one?" Stella asked.

"Just barely. Her odds aren't the best."

Stella gloved up and headed for the small door off to the side. "Hey, this is new," she said, pointing at the padlock that had been installed.

Flack came in for a closer look. "You're right," he said. Then, almost as an afterthought, he asked, "Hey, Danny—they find any guns on those two that went to the morgue?"

"Ah…" Danny tried to remember. "Yeah. One .22 and one .32, but not the one we're looking for. I think the .32 was a Colt."

"I put a BOLO out on Davis's gun—her friend Kyle back at the lab gave me a picture and specs. I'm telling you, how she manages to carry that thing legally is beyond me."

"I'm just glad she's on our side, yeah?"

"Yeah. I just hope we can find her."

------

"Feisty one, aren't you?" a voice cackled, drawing Chase's face closer to his own. Scowling, Chase tried to shy away, throwing a murderous glance at her new captor.

"I'd play nice if I were you," the man warned, staring into the jade-colored eyes that were now his ticket to redemption. "My buyer's real interested to meet you, and I'd hate for you to have to be 'damaged' before you do."

Chase wanted to spit out a retort, but the thick gag in her mouth kept her silent. She looked down at her dirty shirt, thankful that the black cloth hid much of the sweat and blood stains that she knew were spattered over it. She sat uncomfortably between her new captor and several of his 'associates', each man blocking a door to the SUV they were currently traveling in.

"Cost me a lot of money, bitch," the man continued, as though she were being treated to a running commentary. "Plus I got a reputation to keep."

_As do I,_ Chase thought. Her eyes danced around the spacious cab, now filled with menacing, determined men that would as soon kill her as look at her.

"Where to, boss?" the driver asked, his voice breaking a long silence.

"Head towards the 'country house'," Chase heard the leader say. "Gotta wait on the buyer now, anyway…maybe we can work some of the fight out of this one before we hand her over, eh?"

Chase's eyes widened in fear. She'd handled a lot of things in the last eleven years, but the ice in the man's voice as he said that scared her to her core. The woman started to wriggle a little in her seat, her head turning this way and that as though desperately looking for an exit.

"Fight all you want, _chica_," her new captor said with a slight grin. "You're not leaving 'less we say you are."

Deep ragged breaths through the nose sounded puffs of air into the dark space. The heavy tint on the windows made the SUV seem like a cavern, only marginally better than the one she'd been 'liberated' from. _At least I'm not roasting to death,_ she mused. _But now things are definitely worse…_


	9. Chapter 9

**Usual disclaimers.

* * *

**

It seemed like hours that Oliver sat waiting on the girl, who was still in surgery. _Please, God, let her pull through this,_ the worried man thought. _Chase is still out there somewhere, and she's our one good lead…_

Dark hair began to sink into a pair of shaking hands as Oliver held his head. He took a few deep breaths, trying to work the nerves out of his system, and he jumped nearly five feet into the air when the girl's surgeon tapped him lightly on the shoulder. "Yes?" he asked, his voice having gone up an octave in fear.

"Sorry to have startled you," the surgeon apologized. "But the young lady is out of surgery…"

"Is she all right?" Oliver asked.

"She's lucky you found her when you did," the surgeon explained. "She lost an awful lot of blood—we almost thought she'd die right on the table before we could get her stable."

"But she's okay?"

"Yes, for now. She suffered a gunshot that nicked a major artery near the heart—hence the amount of blood. We were able to repair that, but right now she's sleeping. I have to insist that she not be woken—her body needs time to heal from the blood loss and the surgery."

Oliver swallowed. "Doctor, is there somewhere we can talk private?" he asked, his voice low.

The surgeon led Oliver to an empty room off to the side of the OR. "What is it?"

"This girl you've just saved is the only lead we have to a kidnapping case," Oliver explained, showing his credentials. "I'm helping the NYPD with the case, and the sooner I can get a statement, the better."

"My God," the surgeon replied, holding his stomach. "I'm afraid I have to insist that she rest, but as soon as she wakes up from the anesthetic I don't see why you can't question her. Is she in…"

Oliver went out on a limb. "I don't think so," he said cautiously. "Personally, I think she was just in the wrong place at the wrong time. But it would help if word of this didn't get too far, you know?"

"Of course."

"Okay," Oliver sighed, resigning himself to wait. "Do you mind if I wait in her room?"

"I don't see why not, as long as she's left to wake on her own."

Oliver nodded. "All right. I'll make a phone call and then head up."

The surgeon took his leave, and Oliver pulled out his cell phone. _Rules or no rules, I've got to let everyone know,_ he thought as he started punching in a text message.

----

It took no less than four work lights for Stella to be able to start processing the back bedroom that the padlock had been attached to. "It's a wonder anyone could see in this place," she murmured to herself as she started collecting evidence.

The room was about nine-by-nine, and what seemed peculiar was that it had no windows. Also peculiar was that it didn't seem to have a working light source either—no electrical wiring or a socket for a light bulb, not even one that might have hung from the ceiling.

"Strange way to build a room," Stella said, her voice carrying a little.

"How's that?" Flack asked, poking his head inside.

"There's no light source available—no windows, no light fixtures, not even a socket and a switch. It's as if the thing was a closet converted to a bedroom at some point or just an afterthought."

"Huh," the detective said, peering around at the small space. The only pieces of furniture in the room were a metal bed frame with a small, thin mattress, a clapboard table that served as a night stand, and a rickety wooden chair that had seen better days. A silver chain hung limply from the foot of the bedframe, glinting in the sudden bright light. "Hey, Stella," he said, carefully stepping inside to take a closer look. "What's this?"

The CSI crept over towards the item in question, plucking the chain from the frame as soon as she photographed it. "Small links—maybe shackles or handcuffs?" she wondered.

Flack pulled out his set and Stella examined them. The chain links were the same size as those they'd found, but Flack's weren't as thick. "Could be," she replied. "Same size." Stella then pulled the mattress off the bed and began processing it, finding all sorts of biological stains on it. "No semen, so at least that's out," she said. "But there's some blood here, at the top of the mattress."

"I'm roasting in here," Flack said, wiping his brow with his sleeve. "There a furnace on or something we don't know about?"

"At this time of year?" Stella pointed out. "But you're right—it _is_ way too hot in here."

"Could be the design of the room," the detective mused. "Small space, insulated by the rest of the house…" He stopped when he got a funny look from Stella. "What?"

"Never thought you were one for architecture."

"Well, couldn't tell you a flying buttress from an archway, but I used to hate the design of my parents' living room. Always wanted to change that."

"Ah ha." Stella continued to process, slowly piecing together what might have happened in this dark dungeon-like hole. "Perfect place to hide someone you've just kidnapped," she muttered. "She couldn't see them with any certainty, making an ID next to impossible."

"Less they talked to her," Flack said.

"Looks like they did," Stella countered, finding remnants of packing tape littered on the floor near the head of the bed. A roll of packing tape sat patiently on the night table. "I've got what could be possible epithelials on these," she said, "and some white fibers." Stella stared at the space on the bed, now empty. In her mind, she saw a bound figure lying helplessly on the thin mattress. "They must have used the tape to bind and gag her, so she couldn't fight them or scream. The fibers might come from a cloth of some kind that could have silenced her further." Scanning the area, Stella found no trace of cloth anywhere in the room. "Whoever shot the place up must have taken it along with her."

"Leaving us with a lot of questions," Flack concurred.

-----

The living room took forever. White powders lay all over everything in the space, as well as drug paraphernalia and bullet casings. Danny had taken samples of every blood drop and photographed the spatter that had sprayed onto the walls. He'd had to raid Stella's kit in order to get more shoe lifts—the fine powder left the CSI with dozens of unique footprints to sort through and collect.

As he processed, he began to picture what happened in his mind. The door had been broken open with a good kick to the center. At least five or six people invaded, taking the owner and his buddy by surprise. _Did the fight start right then, or was there a disagreement that turned ugly?_ Danny wondered.

The footprints told Danny that the two guys that lived in the house had tried to run for it, but they didn't get very far. High-velocity spatter on the walls told him that the shots had been close range. The smaller prints near the hall entrance said that someone else—possibly the girl Mac sent out to the hospital—had walked in on what happened. Her shooting had happened in the bedroom, but a couple of stray bullet holes in the walls near the hallway told Danny that the invaders had tried to shoot her as she ran for cover.

_Hopefully Oliver's getting her statement,_ the CSI mused. _Right now we could use a witness._

Two pairs of shoe prints led towards the small room Stella was processing, and in Danny's mind he could see two of the invaders going in to take the Davis woman from where she'd been held and leaving with her. _From the mess they left, I'm guessing she probably didn't want to go with them either,_ he thought.

Finally Stella reemerged from the small room, looking as though she'd spent the last three hours in a sauna. "How anyone could stand to be in there for any length of time…" the woman began.

"Find anything?"

"I got lots. Lindsay and Adam are going to have a field day." Stella stepped aside to let Flack out, who looked more than a little red.

"Hot enough in there for ya?" Danny teased as he saw his good friend heaving deep breaths of the slightly cooler air in the living room.

"It's a wonder that woman ain't cooked," Flack said between breaths. He walked towards the kitchen, hoping to make some use of the open back door.

"What'd you find, Danny?" Stella asked.

"Tons of prints, again," the younger man said. "I'm thinkin' that our intruders beat the door in, there was a 'disagreement' of some sort, and when it went bad our vics ended up dead."

"Over what?"

"First glance, I'd say the dope, but I'm thinkin' they had Chase Davis in that little room. Educated guess?"

"Sure, if you can back it up."

"I'm thinkin' whoever killed out vics was after Davis. Why these dealers would take her in the first place…"

"Could be any number of reasons," Stella said. "Insurance, leverage, maybe they thought she might become useful."

"Still, how many small-time dealers you know are that forward-thinkin'?"

"True. But there's at least one."

"Hey," Danny asked, almost as an afterthought. "Did you get a warrant for Duchens?"

Stella shook her head. "I couldn't. Agent Hollenbeck and I searched every piece of evidence and every legal loophole to try, but there just wasn't enough to bring him in on. I mean, _we_ know he's got something to do with this, but with what we got we can't prove it."

"Bet this is our ticket," Danny said.

"Maybe," Stella concurred. "I'm going in to see what Mac's up to."

-----

"Hey, any luck?" a voice asked. Mac turned to see the face of his good friend smiling thinly at him.

"Oliver sent a text from the hospital—the girl's out of surgery, and they think she'll recover."

"That's wonderful," Stella said, gingerly taking a step into the small bedroom. She relished the light breeze that trickled through the screen, sighing in relief. "Oh, Mac, that back bedroom…it was a sauna…"

"Let's not get ahead of ourselves," Mac chided gently.

"No, I'm serious. Five minutes and Flack and I were sweating like someone turned on a faucet. There's no windows in that room, and what's more, it looks like the rest of the house is insulating it, causing it to be warmer than the rest of the house."

"And in a heat wave…"

"Exactly. I took the whole mattress, as well as prints and a bunch of packing tape shards from the floor. Oh, and some chain links on the bed."

"Chain links?"

"Probably from handcuffs. From the placement on the bed, I think they were used to anchor her legs so she couldn't move them or try to escape."

"Hmm." Mac continued processing the girl's room, which was taking longer than he'd originally thought. "Someone chased this girl in her before they shot her," he said. "I saw the bullet holes in the hallway."

"I did too," Stella concurred. "Maybe we can get a match?"

"Maybe. Hey, that warrant…"

"No dice. And I know Agent Hollenbeck worked every angle he could without breaking laws. There just wasn't enough evidence."

"Well, there is now," Mac said. "I'm willing to bet that the attack on this place was done either by Duchens's crew or by Duchens himself. Prints and ballistics should confirm that."

"I hope so, for Chase Davis's sake." Stella looked at the blood-spattered walls in the room, as well as the stained carpet under her feet. "Where would they have taken her?"

"More importantly," Mac countered, "is why."

-----

Kyle heaved a small sigh of relief. He turned his Blackberry screen towards Adam, who read with interest.

"Hey, that's great!" he said, making sure to look at him. "Maybe she can tell you where your friend is?"

--I hope so,-- Kyle said. In the few short hours since the two had been working together, Kyle and Adam had developed a unique system for communicating with each other. Adam relied heavily on Kyle's ability to lip-read, and Kyle relied heavily on Adam's talent for reading people's feelings and emotions. The rest was notebook and pencil or an IM program. –Soon as she wakes up.—

"Man, I gotta get a dictionary," Adam said.

_I thought there was a translator in the building?_

_There is, but I want to do it myself, you know?_

Kyle nodded. Then he puffed a little. _Where is your mortuary room? _He asked.

"Mortuar…oh, you mean the morgue."

Kyle nodded. _I feel like we're doing nothing, and I want to help._

_Well, Dr. Hawkes is with Sid there now, and he'll tell us what's with the vics they pulled from the scene…_

Kyle shook his head. _Not that I don't believe that your people won't tell us, but…I want to see for myself, you know?_

Adam sighed. "Okay. Follow me."

----

In a nearby layout room, Josh was watching with interest as Lindsay began processing the clothes from the latest crime scene. "Hand me that light there?" she asked, and the portly man looked down to see several different lights available.

"Wheech one?"

"Oh, sorry. That one," Lindsay said, pointing out a hand-held ALS light. Once she got it, she donned a pair of orange goggles and flipped off the lights in the room. Josh, who had done likewise, saw only a neon-bright pattern of blood and biological spatter on what looked to be a shirt.

"And thees tells us what, exactly?" the agent asked.

"Tells us that there's more than one donor to the blood spatter here," Lindsay said, laying the garment on the table. "See how these drops are a lot larger, like they've dropped form a short distance?"

"I weel take your word on eet." Josh shrugged. "My knowledge of science ees leemited."

"Hm," Lindsay murmured. "Well these smaller ones couldn't have come from our vic—those indicate they came from someone standing nearby. The drops are too small to have originated with the victim wearing this shirt."

"Ah ha," Josh said. He watched as the young woman snipped small samples from the stained cloth and prepared them for both the DNA and the mass spectrometer. "There's some residue on the shirt I want to analyze," she explained, pointing to a grayish substance just underneath the arm of the shirt. "I've never seen that before."

Josh studied the substance closely, even asking for a magnifying lens. Lindsay provided him with a light that served the purpose admirably. "I cannot be cairtain, but I believe thees may be exploseeve."

"Explosives?" Lindsay looked troubled.

"I cannot be cairtain. 'owever, the suspect we air looking at ees known to deal een C4 and gunpowdair…"

Behind them, the computer beeped. Lindsay read the results. "You were right," she said. "C4." Then she stared at the giant walrus of a man, his eyes determined but kind-looking. "How'd you…"

"My science ees leemited, but I 'ave 'ad uch experience weeth such theengs."

"Really?"

"From a long time ago, Mlle. Monroe. Een anothair time and place."

Lindsay warily kept an eye on Josh as the two continued to work on the rest of the victims' clothing. Though she felt at ease with the giant man, there was something about him that reminded her of Mac a little—he had secrets he kept well hidden, though he was honorable and a fair-minded man.

"Your baby," Josh asked, tipping his head towards Lindsay's large stomach. "Do you know?"

"Know? Oh, whether it's a boy or a girl?"

"Yes."

"Oh, no. Danny wanted to, but I wanted to be surprised." Lindsay beamed at this turn of discussion—she was all too eager to meet her child.

Josh smiled. "You air excited."

"Yes. I can't wait. Plus I'll get to go back out into the field, which is a plus."

"The fathair…'e is excited too?"

"Danny? Yeah. You should see him 'reading' to this little one between processing and getting results. There's a lot of downtime to this job."

"'e ees a scientist too?" Josh smiled.

"Yeah." Lindsay looked at Josh. "You have any kids?"

The smile on Josh's face dimmed a little. "No. My wife, she wanted them, as did I, but…" The large man shrugged. "It was not to be."

"Oh." Lindsay turned towards the table, almost ashamed. "I'm sorry."

"Ees all right. I 'ave the 'keeds' to worry about now."

"Kids?"

"Mlle. Davis, M. Parker, and Oh-lee-vair." Josh smiled. "Capable, all of them, and very much a part of my life, now."

Lindsay continued to process as Josh told an interesting story about what the four of them did at New Year's with some friends in Virginia. "Mlle. Davis, she ees steel 'ot about that peecture!" he laughed.

"I would be too—dressed in that getup. It's a wonder how…" Lindsay let her sentence drop as she found some hairs along the collar of the shirt. She quickly prepared them for DNA analysis and set them to run, hoping that the results wouldn't take hours as usual.

"Sometheeng ees wrong?" Josh asked.

"No, something might be _right_," Lindsay said. "We might have a solid lead on who shot this guy…and maybe a lead to who had Miss Davis."

Now nervous with anticipation, both Josh and Lindsay waited impatiently for the results.


	10. Chapter 10

**Usual disclaimers.

* * *

**

The black SUV stopped on a quiet street. The driver and front passenger exited the vehicle first, and then gave a signal of some sort. The next thing Chase knew, she was being dragged out of the vehicle and shoved forward onto a dry, dying patch of grass.

"Keep moving, and no tricks," her new captor hissed into her ear as he kept shoving her. "Or this little prize'll come in rather handy." Chase drew in a sharp breath as the man quickly revealed the sight of a familiar handgun that rested snugly on his belt.

_Shot with my own 'Hector,' _the woman thought bitterly. _At least Kyle and Ollie will be able to trace it…_

The dead grass gave way to a large back stoop, and Chase was pushed inside the building and compelled down a hallway. A tall staircase loomed at the end of the hall, and she tried to resist the unspoken order to climb the stairs.

"Move, bitch," her new captor barked. "Now."

Resignedly, Chase did as she was told. Another long hallway produced a small door on the left, and Chase was hastily shoved into the room. The force of the shove knocked her off-balance, and the investigator fell into a heap on the wooden floor. A muffled cry signaled the pain that was starting to grow on her right hip from falling hard onto it.

"Get up," the man snapped, reaching for her shoulder. Chase shied away, moving ever so slowly away from the hand that meant to grab her. Using her feet, she pushed herself across the floor, wincing as her hands scraped the rough floor underneath her. The abused extremities of her arms were securely bound behind her back, and with every centimeter she moved the pain they suffered intensified.

A glower fell over her new captor's face. "Pick her up," he barked, looking up for a second. Suddenly two large men seized her by the arms and hauled Chase up from the floor, standing her precariously in front of them. "Over there," the leader said, pointing to a large rocking chair. The woman soon found herself sitting in the noted piece of furniture, her upper arms bound to the back slats that made up the chair frame. Her legs were bound to a crossbar that spread and supported the rocking beams underneath, rendering her immobile. "Just in case you got ideas," the leader said, smiling a little.

Chase wanted to shout at the man. She wanted to scream for help or find some way to alert someone to what was happening, but the thick cloth wedged inside her mouth made her as unintelligible as ever. The investigator settled for glaring at the men with her eyes, hoping that her feelings on the subject were made plain by her dark looks.

"All right," the leader of the crew said lightly, as though mocking a small child. "Maybe once you settle in, we'll have us a nice chat."

_Jesus Christ, is that what everyone in this scheme wants to do? Talk? _Chase rolled her eyes, as though saying she'd heard it all before. the action earned her a strong slap to the face, and as she reeled from the strike a pair of strong fingers held her chin tightly.

"Keep pissin' me off, and you'll suffer for it," her captor promised. "Buyer wants you alive, but that don't mean you have to be in pristine condition."

Worried what that particular statement might mean, Chase sank back into the chair in defeat. The fingers released her jawbone, and a pair of dark eyes took what seemed like a 'final assessment' of his men's handiwork. "Come on," he said finally. "We'll give the lady some time to think. I doubt she'll be going far."

Chase's eyes narrowed again as the small group laughed. She stared down at her feet as the door swung shut, and she heard a lock being thrown into place. Silver bands circled her ankles—a new pair of handcuffs having replaced the ones these men had managed to break off the bed in the house before. _Snapped 'em like a twig, _she thought harshly, thinking of the cost that had gone into having them customized to prevent such a thing from happening. _Then again, bolt cutters do come in handy…_

Her ankles felt like chewed leather. Chase's own cuffs—the parts that had encircled her ankles—still remained on her legs, now supporting the newer pair that imprisoned her. _"Stupid crackwhores got one thing right," _her present captor had commented as his men put them on her while he'd held her jaw tight. _"Now even if you manage to get out of that chair, you won't be going far."_

The woman heaved a frustrated sigh. _I was so close,_ she thought. _Now I've got to try all over again._

Polished jade-like eyes took in the small room. It looked as though it had at one time been some sort of lady's sitting room or a parlor; the furnishings were limited to the rocking chair and a chaise lounge, a small table that served as a sideboard, and a large hanging mirror on one wall. The walls were white with a china-blue trim, and the space had dust thick enough to coat a battleship with.

Chase tried to keep her breathing quiet as she strained her ears to gain any audio cues as to where she was now being held. The sound of birds chirping nearby told her that there was at least a tree or an electrical wire somewhere close—the place wasn't that isolated. The short walk inside had only given her a view of a couple roofs in the distance and lots of fencing. Below her, she could make out the sounds of muted voices floating through the wooden floors, though the conversation still remained a mystery.

_Maybe their getting the call from their buyer,_ she worried. _I can't let them complete the deal…_

Determined, Chase began pulling on her bonds, hoping that at least one of the henchmen had done a sloppy job in tying the knots. After a few minutes, she cried out in frustration as she realized that the knots were more than solid and tight. _Now what?_ she thought.

-----

Downstairs, Monet paced the bare living room. The snatch hadn't been pretty, and he was trying to figure out what to do with the piles of bloody clothes he and his boys had on them. He'd sent two of his employees in to shower, as the blood spray had gotten over every inch of their upper halves, and two more were taking the car to get professionally detailed.

"What's the story?" Moshu had asked as Monet tossed him the keys.

"Tell 'em there was an accident or something," Monet snapped. "Guy up the road, he knows to keep his mouth shut."

Moshu left, taking one of the other men with him. _At least that's taken care of,_ the man thought. _Now about this dame…she better be worth a lot, after what I had to put up with to get her._

Suddenly one of the men came out, toweling off a shock of black hair. "Shower's free, boss," he said. "Look like you could use one."

"Thanks for the commentary," Monet spat. Shrugging, the man continued toweling his hair, settling into an old wooden chair. Monet sighed and headed for the bathroom. "Let me know if that phone rings," he said, catching the man's attention. "If we miss the buyer's call, this'll all have been for nothing."

"No problem, boss," the stocky man said simply. With that, Monet closed the door to the bathroom and started to shower, a change of clothes being brought by one of his other 'boys.'

-----

A door slammed shut, startling Chase out of her fitful doze. "Wakey wakey, bitch," her captor cooed, drawing closer to her. Heaving deep breaths through her nose, she winced as the sticky packing tape was removed from her mouth and the cloth removed.

"Now, you're going to tell me what you were doing at that buy the other day," the man said, his voice full of confidence. Chase panted a little, drinking in the cool air she'd been denied so long.

"No," she breathed.

"No?"

Chase shook her head. "I tell you, you kill me. I can do the math too."

"Well, look at that. A smart broad as well." Chase winced as her face was struck again. "Here's how it works—you tell me what I want to know, and maybe you don't hurt as much when you move on, you understand?"

"You really think it makes a difference?" Chase spat. "Either way, I'm dead, and it more than likely won't be pleasant."

"Makes you think that?"

"Only two reasons a third-party wants to have a chat with someone during a buy, genius," Chase taunted. She was boiling with rage at her treatment over the last few days. "They want information, or they want to stay a step ahead of someone else. Either way, the messenger doesn't fare well."

"Bitch, I've about had enough of your mouth," the man shouted, pulling out Chase's 'Hector' and pointing it right at her. Chase immediately fell silent. She knew what 'Hector' was capable of. "Oh, _now_ you decide to do what you're told?" he mocked, waving the large barrel menacingly towards her.

"Don't," Chase breathed, afraid he might pull the trigger. The thought of being shot to death with her very favorite gun terrified her—especially since she knew what her 'Hector' could do to a person. "Please…you don't want to do that…"

"What does it matter to me?" the man chortled, enjoying the look of fear that Chase knew was plastered all over her face. "Like you said, you're probably dead anyway."

Thinking fast, Chase blurted out, "I-If you shoot me, a-and I die, your…your buyer won't be very happy…"

The two locked gazes for a long moment. Monet was boiling inside as he knew his prisoner was right, and Chase was desperately hoping that her words were true. Finally Monet lowered the gun, settling for a punch to Chase's stomach, making her splutter and cough. "Serves you right, bitch," he snarled, turning on his heel. "Maybe in a bit you'll be more talkative. Like I said, you don't have to be healthy to make my buyer happy—just alive."

"Chase," she coughed loudly.

"What?"

"My name is Chase, not 'bitch'." Monet heard her heaving deep breaths in an attempt to regain the oxygen he'd knocked out of her.

"The fuck I care what your name is? Few more hours and you won't be my problem." Monet stormed out the door, slamming it so hard it shook on its hinges and threw the lock, once again trapping her inside.

_It's not like I could break it anyway,_ Chase mused sadly as she tried in vain to release her bound hands. The knots in the cord were just too tight, and the tape from earlier was holding as fast as ever.

-----

Kyle followed Adam as the lab tech made his way through the maze of hallways that made up the Medical Examiner's offices, not taking his eyes off the man for fear of getting lost. _How on earth do they find their way anywhere in this place? _he wondered as he tried to keep pace. Soon the pair came up on a large glass-walled room where several large metal tables sat filled to capacity. Two men were standing over one of the bodies—one long and thin and very animated, the other more cautious and reserved.

"Hey Sid, Dr. Hawkes," Adam said meekly.

"Adam? What brings you to see me?" Sid asked, a surprised smile on his face.

"Actually, he did," the tech admitted, motioning towards Kyle. The silent man was carefully looking over the body, making certain not to touch anything that might be important. "This is Kyle Parker."

"One of the private investigators Mac told us about," Hawkes said, watching the sandy-haired man with interest. "Nice to meet you."

"Oh, uh, Kyle here—he's deaf," Adam explained as Kyle continued his 'unofficial' examination of the body in question. "I-I don't think he saw you…"

Hawkes moved closer to the man, tapping him on the shoulder. The shock of being startled from his concentration made Kyle jump backwards a little in surprise, accidentally knocking into the former ME. –Sorry,-- the deaf man signed, taking his closed fist and circling it around his heart once.

"It's okay," Hawkes said slowly, remembering he had to speak clearly.

--"Did I touch anything?"—

Both Sid and Hawkes shook their heads. "You came down to observe?" Sid asked.

--I can't sit upstairs and wait. I'm going insane. Is there anything you can tell me? Something these people might have been able to tell us about where my friend is?-- When all three men in the room looked at Kyle as though he were beamed in from another planet, he copied down his sentiments onto his borrowed notepad. He added in the margin _I can read your lips. Just talk clearly and look at me when you talk._

"Well, here's what I can add," Sid began, gearing up. "This man here put up a bit of a fight. Defensive wounds on the hands and the shins—someone kicked him at some point. I found traces of a white powder inside the nasal cavities…"

--Coke?-- Adam translated Kyle's question, and the investigator gave him the thumbs-up sign when Sid continued.

"Possibly." The coroner handed Adam an evidence bindle. "Not my department. But if I were to guess…"

Kyle shrugged. –Good enough for me.—

"There's also evidence of track marks along the arms, but they're fairly old. Nothing new. See the pattern of the bruising along the arms and the legs?"

Both Adam and Kyle leaned in to take a look. "Someone took swings at this guy?"

"Yellow coloration of the bruises says they're at least two days old," Hawkes offered.

--Maybe Chase hit this guy as he was taking her?— Kyle postulated. –I mean, she doesn't just let people take her…--

"Well, no one does," Sid said. "I mean, if that were the case…"

Kyle shook his head and reached for his notebook. _No. She wouldn't let someone grab her and not put up a fight—weapons pointed at her or not. She's a fighter in every sense of the word. She'd try to talk them out of it, or fight her way out of it, but she wouldn't just willingly go—not if she thought it was a situation she couldn't control._

Hawkes looked at Kyle questioningly. "This kind of thing has happened before, hasn't it?"

A pair of hands held themselves outward, palms up, wiggling as though they were mimicking a set of balance scales. –Maybe.—

The young doctor let the answer slide for the moment.

"I also found trace on his clothes—sent that up to Lindsay as well as the clothes—and, of course, the COD." Sid extracted a bloodstained bullet out of a small petri dish. ".32 caliber, I'd guess."

Adam took the bullet as well, holding the dish in his gloved hands. "Pretty banged up," he said, "but I think I see striations that are intact."

"And now for victim number two," Sid said, motioning the group towards a second body lying face-up on a metal table. "Meet Edward Proctor, age 24. COD is, like his friend, a gunshot wound, this time to the head." Sid carefully turned up the back of Proctor's head to show Adam and Kyle the wound. "Entered through near the base of the head and came out the right temple."

"How does a shot like that _happen_?" Adam wondered, perplexed. "I mean, you'd think the vic would be running from the bullet…"

"Don't know," Hawkes. "Unless…"

"What?" Kyle's voice was thick and fuzzy, but his sentiment came through.

"I don't know. Not yet."

The sandy-haired man stared at the wound track, as though getting an idea. Without warning, he quickly fell onto the ground, pointing a pencil upwards towards Adam's head. –Like this,-- he said finally. –Whoever shot this man fell on the floor…maybe in the fight?—

"Could be," Hawkes agreed. "We'll know more during reconstruction, but yeah, that could explain it."

"I also found track marks, powder in the nostrils, all the hallmarks of a user like his friend," Sid added. "Clothes and shoes went up to trace."

"Hopefully Lindsay found something on the clothes," Adam said. "Thanks, Sid."

"Anytime." To Kyle he said, "It was nice meeting you. I hope you find your friend all right."

--Me too,-- Kyle replied. –Thank you, doctor.—

-----

"Ha!" Lindsay cried, her voice full of triumph. "We got him!"

"Oo?" Josh asked.

Lindsay grabbed a printout from the DNA printer and showed it to the agent. "See that?"

"Yes. What ees eet saying, Mlle. Monroe?"

"It's saying we have cause to get a warrant on Duchens," she chortled. "I've gotta call Mac…"

No sooner did Lindsay reach for her phone than the man in question stepped off the elevator, bringing Stella, Danny and Flack in tow. "Mac!" she cried, racing as fast as her swollen torso would allow her. "DNA confirms that our latest vics were in proximity to Caldwell Duchens—Josh and I found hairs on one of the vics' shirt that ties him to the scene in Queens."

"Calling it in now," Flack said, reaching for his phone. "Hopefully this guy's easy to track…"

"What else did you find?" the bubbly CSI asked, looking over the cart full of bagged evidence that Stella had wheeled up.

"Prints, blood, bullets—lots of bullets," Danny said. "I'm beginnin' to really hate ballistics, I gotta say."

"There was also a possible witness," Stella said as Mac headed quickly into his office to take a call. "Young girl, Mac says not more than about nineteen or twenty. Oliver Lawrence is at the hospital with her right now—she just got out of surgery."

"The gairl, she weel be all right?" Josh asked, concerned.

"Oliver said the doctors gave her a clean bill of health, but she's still sedated. He's waiting over there to take her statement."

Josh nodded. "_Ce'st bon._ Ees there anytheeng else you discovaired?"

"No explosives or traces of 'em, if that's what you're askin'," Danny said, taking a moment to hug Lindsay and run a finger discreetly over her abdomen. "Just a lot of dope."

"Explains one of our theories," Stella mused. "The explosives buy got interrupted by a drug buy, and there was a turf war."

"Weeth Mlle. Davis een the middle," Josh said simply. The Greek woman knew the giant man had a fondness for this young woman that was now missing—his being here to help with the search and the tone of his voice belied it. "Eef the exploseeves dealairs 'ave gotten thair 'ands on 'er…"

"We're running out of time," Stella finished. Quickly she moved the cart of evidence into trace, Danny and Lindsay following behind her. Josh meanwhile, had been watching Mac's expression as the man continued his phone call. Soon the lab supervisor was shouting into the end of the receiver, and Josh managed to pick up parts of the conversation. Whoever was on the other end was seriously angering the lead CSI, and Josh made a mental note to inquire about it later. _If this is going to interfere with finding Mlle. Davis, I will try to put a stop to whatever it is,_ Josh decided. _Something tells me there's an internal war here, and I plan to find out._


	11. Chapter 11

**Usual disclaimers.

* * *

**

"Mm hmm. Yes. Of course. I would be delighted to help," a man said, his high voice resounding over the telephone. "On Thursday, then. Good day."

Winston O'Brien hung up the phone and swiveled in the plush red velvet chair, taking in the sight of his teak and ebony-paneled office. The chair was designed to comfortably support his large frame, and the desk was oversized to make him look smaller than his true size of nearly three hundred and twenty-eight pounds. He reached out and pressed a button on the phone cradle, taking in the spectacular view of the New York skyline at night.

"Robert," he said simply after the line had picked up. "Can you come up, please?" After a quick reply, O'Brien hung up. He turned his attentions to the view of the lighted bridges and the neon colors of the skyscrapers, twinkling like low-placed stars along the line of sight. It was a view that the man never tired of seeing.

A knock sounded on the door. "Come in," O'Brien called.

"You called for me, sir?" a plain but strong voice asked, stepping into the giant office.

"Yes. That supplier that you were to meet—what became of that?"

Robert stared down at his feet. "The man is an unmitigated idiot," he answered, not daring to look at his employer's eyes. Winston O'Brian was legendary for not suffering fools, and he desperately hoped that the man would not view him as part of that category.

"How so, Robert?" O'Brian asked, his already high voice rising about half an octave. In truth, O'Brian sounded almost feminine, save for one deep note he permanently carried in his throat. It was told that a political rival once lampooned him for it, and a month later he was found floating in a river in upstate Connecticut.

"The preliminary buy was arranged, and to your specifications," Robert explained. "However, it was…interrupted."

"Police?"

"No. Drug dealers. Apparently our 'host' did not do his homework. I would have preferred a small warehouse in Chinatown, but an alley it was."

"I see. This is that fiasco from two days ago." O'Brian's eyes narrowed, making him look like an evil version of the Pillsbury Dough Boy. "You did say I was most anxious to meet the woman you say was there?"

"I did, sir. I also stipulated that the next meet would be in a place of your choosing."

"Mmm," O'Brien said. "Very well. I have received my invitation to the gathering we need—the plans must be in place by Thursday night at seven-thirty. That gives us four days to get this plan in motion."

"It can be done."

"See that it is. I have faith in you, Robert—you have served me well in times past. However, please see that our supplier makes his final sale with us."

"Loose ends?"

O'Brian nodded. "And, of course, I want the girl. There are rumors that certain members of the FBI have gotten wind of our plans, and I wish to prevent them from doing more damage."

"She will be found."

Robert heaved a sigh of relief as his employer gave a thin smile. "Excellent. We must make the best of bad situations, no?"

"Indeed," Robert replied.

------

"I'm tellin' you, Linds, if I never see another bullet it'll be too soon," Danny complained as he sank down into a chair next to his best girl. Lindsay looked up from the fingerprints she had been running and smiled a wan smile.

"Guns aren't looking as great as a weapon, huh?"

"Oh, they're great—there's just so damn _many_ of 'em," Danny explained. "I swear everyone had one. .45's, .32's, .22's---I think there was even a .44 in there. Recorded all the striations, ran it through the databases, and so far nothin'."

"So far?"

"Hey, it's a lot of guns. And it's a huge database."

Lindsay smiled. "What do you make of our investigative friends?" she asked.

"What, Oliver and his buddy?" the bespectacled man asked. Lindsay nodded. "They're all right, I guess. Not too happy with that one guy takin' me out like I was a rag doll or somethin'…"

A laugh rang out of Lindsay's throat. "Which one? Josh?"

"The big guy? Nah. That other one, the one who can't hear."

"Oh. Kyle. Seems like Adam's getting along great with him. I don't know how they're talking, but…"

"Yeah." Danny's gaze traveled from one end of the lab towards Mac's office, where he saw Josh Hollenbeck standing at the door. "Now why don't he just go in?" Danny wondered. "I know he knocked—saw him do it three times."

"Mac was on the phone, remember?" Lindsay reminded him. "Maybe where he's from there's different rules about doing that."

"Yeah," Danny murmured again. "Speakin' of, where _is_ he from?"

"I don't know. He speaks French, that much I sussed out, but his accent has something more to it. Couldn't say."

"He talk to you?"

"All the while you were in Queens," the woman replied. "He's a nice guy."

Looking at the worried expression on the large man's face, Danny added, "Unless maybe you piss him off?"

"Danny!"

"I'm just sayin'. Between that Parker and him, it's a wonder Oliver gets anything done."

"First name basis, huh?" Lindsay teased.

"He's all right, I said." Danny rolled over to see if anything had come back on the bullets. It hadn't. "Okay, kiddo," he said, leaning in towards Lindsay's midsection and pulling out a well-worn paperback. "Now, where were we?"

----

Josh hesitantly stepped inside the glass-walled office after receiving a beckoning wave from its owner. Though Josh never feared much when it came to his surroundings or his job, there had always been an unspoken protocol for him when it came to walking in on a phone conversation. He knew himself that he often personally took 'sensitive' calls, and wished no one to overhear them.

"Sorry about that," Mac said, slamming the phone down into the cradle. A dark look hung over the detective's face, and he glowered at a corner of the room as though it were an unseen opponent.

"There ees trouble? Pairhaps weeth Mlle. Davis?" Josh asked, his breath holding.

"No, no, nothing like that, at least that I know of," Mac replied. "We're still running evidence, and until we get results back on it there's not much we can do, except hope that she's holding on."

Josh nodded in understanding. "The waiting, eet ees the most deeficult."

Mac tipped his head and gave a wan smile. "Especially when it's one of your own people."

"_Ce'st vrai._" The large man made use of the sofa in the office, leaning back a little as he took his massive weight off his feet. "I 'ate to pry, Detecteeve," the agent said, "but, eef eet was not about Mlle. Davis, then…"

"Budget cuts," Mac explained.

"Ah," Josh said. "Thees I undairstand."

"And the Chief of Detectives here doesn't like me all that much," Mac continued. "I made him look bad after he tried to attack my career a while back, and recently he got caught up in a sensitive case—along with half of New York's rich and powerful."

Josh held a hand up. "Say no more," the man concurred. "I too know what eet ees like to be targeted."

Mac looked at the portly man, privately doubting that the threat ever lasted very long. "'e ees threateneeg to, eh, 'close you down'?"

"No. Because the city's broke, he's told seven of my techs, including Adam out there, that they're going to be out on the street. We pulled a few strings, made some sacrifices to keep at least Adam, but…"

"'e plans to let 'im go?"

"And soon. Like by tomorrow."

Josh looked at Mac a moment. "No."

Mac chuckled a little. "No?"

"No. Thees man, thees Adam, 'e cannot go."

"I'm afraid I don't have a choice. To be honest, I don't like it either."

Josh looked up at the man, whom he'd come to respect in the short time he'd made his acquaintance. "There ees a way around thees. I shall return." The portly man rose to his feet, steadying himself a little. "Whaere can I find thees office?"

Mac told him. "But I'm sure he's on the way down now, seeing as I told him I wasn't telling Adam he was being let go."

"Then I weel wait. Aftair all, eet ees all we can do now, ees eet not?"

"Unfortunately, yes."

------

Adam continued running DNA profiles as Kyle looked on. Each sample took hours to process, and the pair got more and more discouraged as the results came back as either someone that was already dead or came up as 'not in the system.'

_Whoever took your friend, they're good,_ Adam finally said, writing on Kyle's notebook. _No records._

_Doesn't mean no trail. _Kyle pulled up his personal laptop and began running a series of programs on it.

_What are you doing?_ Adam asked.

_Running financials on this guy Duchens. If he's got an account in the Seychelles, I'll find it._

Adam raised his eyebrows. _You're that good?_

_I'm the second best in the country. The best is a personal friend of mine, and she works for the FBI._

_Wow. _Adam's eyes grew to the size of dinner plates. The printer beeped again, and the tech read the result. "No match," he puffed under his breath. "Again." The sudden roadblock in progress was not sitting well with him, and he readied yet another sample to be processed.

"Ross!" a strong voice said, startling Adam out of his shoes. The tech turned around to see the face of the Chief of Detectives staring right at him, his eyes wide and his jaw set in a stern look.

"Y-yes, sir?"

"I hate to have to do this, but you're out. As of now."

"I-I'm what?"

"Budget cuts. Now, I know the lab's made sacrifices, but they're just not enough. You're out. I'm sorry."

_Like hell you are,_ Adam thought. A tap on the shoulder startled him again, and the look on Kyle's face told him exactly what the other man was asking. "I have to leave," he said slowly. "They're letting me go."

"Why?" Kyle's fuzzy voice caught the attention of Sinclair, who now looked at the sandy-haired man with interest.

"And who are you?" he challenged.

"Um, sir, this is…"

"You don't belong here," Sinclair snapped. "I don't remember you being here before. What the hell are you doing in this lab?"

Kyle managed to keep up. –Slow down, idiot,-- he signed furiously. –I'm deaf. Can't keep up.—

"The hell?" Sinclair said, his voice now nearly booming across the room. "What the hell is your boss up to, Ross?!"

"Sir, they're helping with a case…" Adam tried to explain, but he was drowned out by Sinclair's shouting. Suddenly the whole lab began to circle around, and Adam noticed Hawkes, Danny and Lindsay nearby. "They can tell you…" he said meekly, pointing towards his friends.

"Get him the hell out of here! I'm actually surprised—Mac Taylor, the stanchion for protocol, and he just lets people in off the street!"

Kyle caught that last statement and grew hot. –Listen, asshole,-- he signed, --if we weren't looking for my boss we wouldn't be here!— He firmly planted his feet on the ground, a clear indication that he wasn't planning to go anywhere.

"Christ," Sinclair said, watching Kyle's hands move and not making sense of it at all. "Anyone here speak sign language?"

One of the lab techs brought forward a uniformed officer from downstairs, who had been fetched earlier. "Tell him he's leaving or I'm having him arrested," Sinclair said sternly. "And Ross, you're leaving too."

The interpreter signed, and Kyle's face grew red. –No. I'm not going anywhere. Not until I find my boss, who's out _there_ somewhere!-- He pulled out his credentials, shoving them in Sinclair's face. –We're working for the FBI at the moment, and the guy _I'm_ answering to will be here in a second, I have no doubt.—

"No one told me about an FBI investigation…" Sinclair said, glaring at Kyle as he heard the translation.

--I can see why. Who would tell an idiot who would fire the man who found evidence in a kidnapping case anything?-- Kyle made a sign that the interpreter smirked at but didn't translate.

"The hell did he say?" Sinclair asked.

"He, ah, called you an asshole, sir," the officer said.

Sinclair stepped closer, making sure Kyle could see his face. "No one insults me," he snarled.

--I just did. As for Adam, if you're going to fire him then I'm _hiring_ him, on behalf of my boss. And he stays—FBI jurisdiction trumps yours, especially when Josh gets involved. Try and have us thrown out, and you'll have more than a political career to worry about, I guarantee you.—

"You're threatening me?" Sinclair chortled. "Will you look at that?"

--I can make your life hell, idiot. Give me a reason.—

"Hey!" Mac called, now noticing the population of his lab circled around the DNA station. "What's going…" As he saw Sinclair, he said, "Oh."

"Taylor. Why wasn't I told of an FBI investigation?"

"Because eet was not necessary to our concairns," Josh bellowed, making everyone jump a little. "You air trying to be rid of M. Ross 'ere?"

"Budget cuts. He's low man on the pole. You understand."

"No. I do not. 'ere ees a man 'oo, along with several others, ees looking for an agent of mine 'oo has gone missing. 'er work ees vital to the welfare of thees ceety, and eet ees of utmost importaince that she be found. I 'ave 'eard M. Parker's statements, and I weel back them. Eef you air going to 'be rid of 'im,' then M. Ross weel be working for me."

"I should throw you out," Sinclair said, trying to keep his dignity.

"FBI takes precedence," Mac said simply. "And you know that. Now, I can get the mayor and the deputy police inspector on the phone—I'm sure they'll be interested to know how you're treating out friends in the government…"

Heaving a pissed off sigh, Sinclair said, "Fine. You win. For now."

"_Ce'st bon,_" Josh said as the man left. "Eediot!" He jumped a little in surprise as several of the CSI's and lab techs gave smothered chuckles. Suddenly the group dispersed, scurrying back to their evidence and their printouts.

"Thanks," Mac said, looking at Josh. "I've wanted to do that for years."

"_Pas de probleme._ We 'ave a common goal—find Mlle. Davis and stop thees ceety from being attacked. I am 'appy to 'elp."

In the DNA room, Adam was beaming. "That was awesome!" he cried, forgetting that his new friend couldn't hear him. The interpreter had stuck around, though, and soon Kyle was also smiling.

--I meant it, Adam,-- Kyle said. –If he's too stupid to see you're an asset, you can work for us until your boss there gets you the position back.—He pointed at Mac, who was talking with Josh in the hall. Just then Kyle's Blackberry began to vibrate, and he pulled up the screen to take the message.

_The girl's up. Tell Josh and Mac._

The deaf man walked out into the hall, holding up his Blackberry and pointing. "I'll go too," he said.

Mac looked at Josh. "I'll grab Hawkes," he said. "Meet you at the elevator in five."


	12. Chapter 12

**Usual disclaimers. Plus the bold lettering in this chap is supposed to be translated spoken Cantonese (I don't actually speak the language!).  


* * *

**

Ling Ling woke up to an awful pain in her chest and a cold blue room. The bed was stiff and hard, and she felt like she'd slept for a week. She tried to reach for something, but found there were little plastic tubes connected to her arms and her hands in places.

"Wh-what is…?" she murmured, her voice weak. Ling Ling blinked her eyes a second, wondering if this wasn't a dream.

"Hey, good morning," a voice said, making the girl cringe a little. It sounded warm and kind, but it was unfamiliar to her. She started to cry out when the voice began speaking again. "Hey, shh, shh—it's okay. I'm not here to hurt you, all right?"

Ling Ling swallowed thickly and nodded her head, too afraid to talk.

"My name is Oliver," the man said. He was sitting next to her bed. Ling Ling felt his hands press something into hers, and she lifted the black leather wallet up to see what looked like a license of some kind and a little shield. The words on the plastic card were unintelligible to her—Ling Ling's mastery of the English language did not include reading it.

"I'm working with the police," the man—Oliver—explained, his voice still gentle as a lamb wrapped in cotton. "I think you might be able to help me."

"Lady," the young woman said, the word coming out in a single breath. "You find her?"

Oliver shook his head. "No."

"They take her."

"Who's 'they,' miss?" Ling Ling looked into the man's bright blue eyes and felt almost at peace.

"Bad people." She began speaking quickly in her native tongue—Cantonese—and her words were lost on the investigator.

"Whoa, whoa," Oliver said, holding a hand up. "I, ah, don't speak Chinese."

"I sorry."

"It's okay. You want me to get a translator?"

Ling Ling pointed to herself. "English not very good," she said by way of an explanation.

Oliver nodded his head in understanding just as a few familiar faces walked in. –Hey, you're up,-- Kyle signed, and the older investigator noticed the very confused look on the girl's face.

"He can't hear," Oliver explained.

"Oh," the girl said. Mac, Josh and Hawkes made their introductions, as did Kyle—with Oliver's help, of course.

"We're gonna need a translator," Oliver said. "Her English is basic at best. When I asked what happened, I got an earful of Chinese." He sighed. "Where's Chase when you need her?"

"She speaks Chinese?" Mac asked, his face telling Oliver that the older man was impressed.

"Cantonese only. Her Mandarin sucks. I personally can't tell the difference."

Mac sat on the opposite side of the girl, making sure to keep eye contact. "What's your name?" he asked, his voice very easy and gentle. He could tell the young woman had suffered, and more than likely for longer than the last couple of days. As he asked the question, he pointed at her.

"Me?"

"Yes."

"Name Ling Ling."

"Ling Ling, have you ever seen this woman before?" Mac asked. He held up a photograph of Chase Davis that Kyle had printed off before they'd left the lab. The girl's eyes brightened in recognition.

"Yes. I see lady." In her excitement to explain, Ling Ling fell back on her native tongue, making it unintelligible to her interrogators.

"We're gonna have to wait for a translator," Mac said finally.

Kyle looked up at Oliver. –I think Mo is in town,-- he said. –He mentioned it last week…--

--Mo, our friend and lawyer?—

--You know any other Mo's?-- Kyle rolled his eyes, in a _are-you-losing-it-Oliver?_ kind of look.

--You think they might want to use the department translator?—Oliver asked.

"Something you'd like to share with the class?" Hawkes said finally, trying in vain to keep up with the two investigators but failing miserably.

"Oh, our lawyer's in town. Kyle thinks we should ask him to translate."

"Your lawyer?"

"He's also the son of the Ambassador from the People's Republic of China. And a good friend. I'd say he's pretty qualified to translate."

"I'll say," Mac said as Hawkes goggled at the pair. Looking at Kyle, he mimed holding a telephone receiver. "Make the call."

Once his surprise faded, Hawkes snapped back into full professional mode. "Ling Ling, I'd like to be able to process you," he said.

"What is…pro-cess?"

"I think there might be some clues hidden on you that might be able to help us find the lady," the doctor explained. "Things that are really small, that you can't see or even tell are there."

"This help?"

"It certainly will," he said with a smile.

Ling Ling looked confused. "It hurt?"

"Nope." Very carefully, Hawkes held open his kit. "See anything that might hurt in there?" he asked, his voice calm and light.

The girl peered inside, her eyes dancing over magnifying glasses, cotton balls, gigantic wooden sticks with cotton on the tops, little bottles of clear liquids, small trays, a tiny pair of scissors, and little clear plastic windows that looked like shiny tape. "No," she said slowly. Then she looked at Hawkes. "Okay."

"Okay," the doctor said, and he gently began going over Ling Ling's hair and limbs. "Did the doctors wash you?" he asked.

"I not know. I sleep." She tried to laugh, but the pain in her chest made her start to cough as she did.

"Yeah, it's going to hurt when you laugh," Hawkes said. "Just try to take it easy, okay? I promise, no laughing."

"I like laugh."

"I bet you do," the former ME agreed. "Gotta say, I do too." He gently took a pair of tweezers and picked out a sample of something grayish from Ling Ling's hair. "Hand me a bag, would you?" he asked Oliver, who was sitting right next to him.

Soon Kyle returned. –Mo's on his way. He's bringing Song Fei with him.--

--"Oh, good. That might be better, anyway."—

"What might be better?" Mac asked. Josh had left the room earlier to make arrangements for Ling Ling to be guarded—"I am not takeeng any chances," he'd said, nearly startling the girl with his loud, muddled accented voice. "Eef she talks to us, she might…"

"Oh, Mo's bringing his fiancée, Song Fei. She speaks Chinese too—both kinds."

"You're right," Mac said, watching as Ling Ling was enthralled with Hawkes's examination of her. "Having a woman ask the questions might be easier."

"Can't hurt," Oliver said. He turned as Ling Ling began to laugh again—this time because the print brush Hawkes was using to dust her legs for possible prints near a bruise site was tickling her.

"What'd I tell you about laughing?" Hawkes said, gently chiding the girl. The 'rebuke' only made her laugh harder, and her giggles were interspersed with short coughs and a couple of painful winces.

"When this go 'way?" Ling Ling asked, pointing to her chest.

"Couple weeks, maybe," Hawkes answered seriously. "You were lucky."

"I not lucky," Ling Ling contradicted. "Men come in, break door. Yell at mean men live in house. I hear fight. I come out, I hear big bang. I run to room, bad man follow, I hurt. Then nice man make it stop." The girl paused a long moment. "It fuzzy after that."

"Basic, but it works," Oliver said. "Does that help?"

"I'll wait for the captioned version," Mac said simply. "Not that I don't trust her, but I think we'll get more out of the statement."

"We need all the help we can get at this point," Oliver said. "I don't know how much longer Chase can hold out."

The morose look on the young man's face told Mac more than he cared to acknowledge at this point. He did, however, remind himself to tell Danny that he was right.

-----

"And so the Commissioner turns off the light, and he says, 'Thank God you're here, Batman'…" Danny read as his evidence continued to run through the ballistics database. "The next panel shows Batman walkin' out of the shadows, all spooky lookin', and he says…"

Just then the computer began to beep. "And just when we was gettin' to the good part," he complained. Lindsay chuckled softly and merely shook her head.

"Go, crimefighter. We have a damsel in distress of our own to save."

"Yeah," Danny said, thinking about the missing Chase Davis. Promising his unborn baby that 'they'd pick up where they left off' later, the CSI wheeled his chair over to the monitor and read the information it had spit back out at him.

".32 caliber, special modifications," he read. "Striations are finer because of a built-in silencer in the barrel." He then stared at the findings with a confused look on his face. "Hey, Chase Davis, didn't her boys say she has some sort of a special gun or somethin'?"

"Ask them," Lindsay said.

"They're not here, smarty. Went down to talk to that witness."

"Maybe Adam knows?"

Danny turned his head and bellowed. "ADAM!" Seconds later, the tech in question appeared in the doorway, looking a little sheepish.

"You bellowed? I-I don't think they heard you in Sri Lanka…"

"Everyone's a comedian today," Danny retorted lightly. "You know what the specs were for Chase Davis's gun?"

"Uh, yeah," Adam said. "Larger magazine storage, custom grip, built-in silencer…"

Danny looked at Adam as soon as he said the last item. "What?"

"Come here," he said. "See this?"

"It's a bullet."

"A .32 caliber bullet, to be precise. With some very unusual striations on them." Danny pointed out the fine lines on the bullet.

"Those are way too fine to be stria," Adam said. "You sure?"

"Yep. Caused by a built-in silencer. The mechanism forces the bullet through a smaller hole, making the striations flatten a little and fill themselves in a bit. The result is _that._"

"So we know her gun was at the scene," Adam postulated. "But…but that makes sense, seeing as she had it with her when she went missing."

"Yeah, but would she have gotten to fire it? Especially at that crime scene?"

"Probably not."

"That's what I'm thinkin'."

"Maybe someone took it? Maybe the people that had her the first time—the dealers in Chinatown?"

"The dope dealers or the explosives dealers?"

Adam shrugged. "Too many variables." Then his eyes perked up. "Did you find anything matching her gun's description at the scene in Queens?"

"Nah," Danny replied. "I'm thinkin' whoever's got her now—the people behind our second little bloodbath—took the thing as a souvenir."

"Pricey souvenir. Traceable, too."

"Maybe we get lucky on this guy Duchens," Danny said, glancing at his phone. "Flack said he'd come back with a warrant—how long does it take to get one?"

"Well, it is getting late," Adam reasoned. "Unlike the city, the court system does take a nap or two every now and again."

"If I didn't know you, I'd say that was an insult to our professions," Danny said mock-sternly.

"Good thing you know me."

Just then Flack walked in, holding a sheaf of paper in his hand. "Wanna make a house call?" he asked. "Ink's still wet and everything, and the car's fired up."

"Lead on, Macduff," Danny said, pulling out his phone to call Mac.

-----

Mac had just stepped out to take a call when an elegant-looking Oriental couple stepped off the elevator. Taking a chance, he said into the phone, "Hold on a minute," and called out, "Looking for Kyle Parker?"

"Yes," the man said, looking to be about Oliver's age. "And Oliver Lawrence as well."

"Detective Mac Taylor, New York Crime Lab."

"Li Mao Xiong," the man said, taking Mac's hand. "You can call me Mo. This is Wei Song Fei."

"Just Song Fei is acceptable," the lady said, also taking Mac's hand. "There is a girl…?"

"Yes, just down the hall. I'll meet up with you in a second." Mac pointed to the phone that was cradled to his ear, and the couple nodded in understanding. "What's that, Danny?"

"Yeah, boss, Flack just got a warrant on Duchens's place," he said. "We're going over to check it out."

Mac's face twitched a little. _Of all the days to want clones of yourself,_ he thought. "Okay. Give me the address—I'll send Josh Hollenbeck over there to meet you. I'm sure he'll want in on this."

Danny gave Mac the last know address of their suspect. "That's even if he's there," the younger CSI pointed out. "The warrant covers the premises as well as him."

"How'd Flack swing that?"

"FBI, kidnapping…let's say there's still a few judges who tend to be helpful on that sort of thing…"

"Thank God," Mac said. "I'll catch up as soon as I can. Call me if anything changes."

"You got it." The line then went dead.

Mac hurried back to the girl's room, pointing at Josh. "They got a warrant," he said, giving Josh the address. "I thought you might like to be there…"

"Of course," the European man said, hastily making his excuses.

"What's all this about?" Song Fei asked, taking a seat next to Ling Ling.

--"Chase's gone missing, guys,"-- Oliver explained as Kyle nodded in agreement. –"About forty-eight hours now."—

"Dear God," Mo said.

"Ling Ling here," Hawkes continued, packing up his kit full of fresh new trace for Lindsay to run, "might be able to help."

Song Fei nodded once and then turned to the silent girl. **"Ling Ling, my name is Song Fei," **the woman said, her voice kind. **"I believe you can help find my friend."**

"**The lady?"**

"**Yes, the lady. What can you tell me about her?"**

Ling Ling paused a moment to think. **"The mean men come in with a large black sack," **she began. **"At first, I thought it was a sack. But it moved, and it had a white face. The men called her a 'bitch'--" **Ling Ling forced the word out in English—**"and then took her into the black room."**

"**The black room?"**

"**No lights. No windows. Very hot. I go here when I am punished."**

As the girl spoke, Mo translated the conversation into English. At the mention of 'punishment,' Mac asked, "How did she end up living there in the first place?"

"**My brother owed the men money. An arrangement was made for me to stay there and work for them to pay it off."**

Song Fei explained further: "It is a very old Chinese custom to sell family members into service to pay debts. Ling Ling would have seen it as an acceptable 'arrangement' due to a strong sense of family honor, but it's really just a form of slavery."

"And where's her brother now?"

Ling Ling shook her head when Song Fei asked. **"I don't know. The men tell me he is dead. I must go back there?"**

Oliver shook his head firmly, as did Mac. "No. You don't. The men are dead, Ling Ling," Oliver said.

Upon hearing this, the girl began to cry. Her tears were of joy.

"**Ling Ling," **Song Fei continued. **"What happened to the lady?"**

"**The mean men keep her locked up in there. I try to give her water, give her food, but I sneak it in. One of the men, he hit her sometimes. The other one asked her some questions and give her some water too. The one man, he said that he planned to 'trade' her for something…"**

"**What?"**

"**I do not know. I try not to find out."**

"Ask her what happened when she was shot," Oliver asked.

"**Lady asked me to write a note for her, to give her friends," **Ling Ling replied. **"I take down the note, in Chinese—I don't know English writing—and I ask her to spell her name. Then I slip out of her room, and nicer man came later to lock the door. I go to my room, and a little while later mean man come back, say that they have to 'give her up'—whatever that means."**

"The explosives dealer, Duchens," Oliver surmised. "One will get you twenty he found them."

"**Soon after, I hear a big snap, and then something falls down. There was an argument--"**

"**What were they arguing about?" **Song Fei asked, now pensive.

"**They wanted the lady. The mean man, he says he wants to trade. Then more angry words, then a big boom, then another one a minute later, maybe more?"**

"When did they come after you?" Mac wondered.

"**When I go out to hall to see what is making noise. The men, they yell at me, say I see them, and I get scared when I see guns. I ran into my room, and I tried to close the door. They push in, and they shoot me." **Ling Ling's breath was coming up in deep gasps as she tried to fight off the emotions that threatened to pour out of her. **"Did I do bad?"**

"**No, Ling Ling, you did fine," **Song Fei assured her, running a hand along the girl's arm. **"You tried to help the lady."**

"If she had access to her, why didn't she try to let her go?" Oliver wondered.

"**I wanted to. She was locked to the bed in the black room—a pair of silver bracelets around her ankles tied by a chain."**

"Her handcuffs," Oliver said, realizing. "They used her handcuffs against her."

"And it sounds like Ling Ling didn't have access to the key," Hawkes replied.

"**No. I do not. Mean man, he had it. Lady ask to use bathroom, and I have to improvise. Use bucket."**

The girl's statement elicited a long, low whistle from Oliver.

"Did the men mention where they were taking the lady?" Mac asked.

"**I don't know," **she told him. **"They said that their buyer would be pleased, but I don't know what that meant."**

A worried look crossed a lot of faces. "Means her cover's blown," Mac said. "Whoever's behind this attack of Josh's had plans for her."

"Plans to use her, most like," Oliver spat. "Leverage. Again."

--And information,-- Kyle added. He'd been apprised of the interrogation through Oliver's translation. –The buyer would know who's looking for him and what measures might be taken to stop him if he takes Chase. Fortunately for us, she won't talk.—

"Even to save her own life?" Hawkes was incredulous at Kyle's statement.

Kyle shrugged. --For years I've tried to convince her that her life's important too,-- he said. –She never seems to understand, though.—

"She's getting better, though," Oliver pointed out. "She might talk, but only if it means saving herself and someone else. And even then the threat would have to be pretty imminent."

"Wow. No wonder you guys get the tough jobs," Hawkes said. "I don't know if I could do that."

"Thanks, Ling Ling," Mac said, and Oliver squeezed her hand in gratitude. "You've been a help."

"You rest now, understand?" Hawkes added.

The girl lay back down to sleep as the party exited her room. Two guards stood outside the door, keeping watch for intruders.

"I'm heading over to the Duchens scene," Mac said. "Hawkes, take that kit and rush it to Lindsay. Help her out as well—we're going to have a giant backlog…"

"On it," the doctor said, heading for the stairs.

--I'll go back and see if I can help Adam,-- Kyle said, also heading for the stairs. –I'm still running financials…maybe that will give us a hit on the buyer…--

"If you need us for anything, Detectives, please, call us," Mo said, handing Mac a card. "Legal, translation, whatever you need. I want to help find her."

"Me too," Song Fei said. "But now I must prepare for my speech on Thursday…"

"Speech?" Oliver asked.

"Yes. There is a conference of nations at the UN building," Song Fei explained. "I was asked to give a speech on the changing face of democracy among the Eastern and Western nations."

"Sounds great!"

"I am happy to do it. I have learned much since coming to this country, and I am happy to know that my own country is taking strides to become a better place."

The party then broke off as Mac and Oliver headed for the elevator. "Hopefully Danny and Flack have some good news for us," the older man said.

"Let's hope," Oliver concurred.


	13. Chapter 13

**Usual disclaimers.

* * *

**

Her wrists ached. Her stomach growled pitiably. Chase had tried for what seemed like hours to free her hands from the cord and tape that bound them, but all she got for her trouble was torn, sore, and bleeding flesh where her wrists crossed.

Bright green eyes surveyed the room she was kept in. The sun had set hours before, and the sounds of birds and nearby traffic had quieted to a whisper or an occasional occurrence. Chase tried to listen for the sound of voices below her, but the past couple of hours had grown eerily quiet.

_Almost too quiet,_ she thought.

Frustrated, Chase let her head drop down onto her chest, her nose assailed by the smell of sweat and blood and God-knew-what else.

_What I wouldn't give for a bath—preferably in my own tub,_ she mused, thinking about her townhouse in Virginia.

_Focus,_ she rebuked herself sternly. _You've got to get word out that these are the dealers. Now, how?_

Another glance told Chase that there was no phone or other communication device in the room. Even if she were to get herself free, she'd have to focus on getting through the locked door.

_Now that's just stupid,_ she thought. _I'm tied up—how am I possibly going to break down the door like this? _The investigator had tried to lift the bulk of the chair and walk over, but the massive weight of the solid wood chair coupled with her bound legs made such a feat next to impossible. Chase looked down at her bound ankles, with silver rings stacked like silver dollar pancakes around the bruised joints. _This is insane,_ she reasoned. _What good am I going to be to an explosives buyer? It's not like I'm going to tell them anything…_

-----

"Moshu, why didn't you go into cooking?" Monet said, pushing an empty plate in front of him. "I mean, this is excellent."

"My family ran a restaurant," the taller man said. "Learned a few things."

"They don't run it no more?" one of the other men asked.

"Not since someone planted roaches in the kitchen," Moshu said. "Things got bad after that."

"Yeah, but…explosives?"

"I got standards. My father always told me that drugs were evil. I for one believe him."

"Good thing, too," Monet said. The man spied some leftover rice and pepper steak, and quickly put the remnants into a bowl.

"You're still hungry?" his friend asked. "I can make more…"

"Nah. I'm thinkin' I need to feed that bitch," Monet explained. "Clean her up a little, too. Can't be giving merchandise to our buyers that's rough around the edges—we got a reputation to uphold."

"She's still not talking?" Moshu asked as the other men began cleaning up.

"Stubborn bitch," Monet said darkly. "I'd shoot her, but what's the point?"

"Might loosen her up."

"I think she thought of that. Told me if she bled to death she wasn't any good to the buyer."

"Damn," Moshu said. "Smart bitch."

"Kinda pretty, too, if I liked white girls."

Moshu saw the wheels turning in his friend and employer's head. "You're not…"

"If it gets her to talk, why not? The boys need a little fun."

"Let me," Moshu said quickly. "She is kinda pretty, and maybe a little show would put her in place." The tall man looked towards the upstairs, asking, "Is there a bathroom up there?"

"Yeah. One. Tub only, no shower."

"Perfect."

-----

The door creaked open, and Chase's eyes fluttered. She'd tried to stay awake, but the exhaustion and lack of food had put her to sleep.

"You're up," a voice said, drawing closer to her bound figure. Chase rapidly blinked her eyelids, trying to brush off the fog that clouded her sight.

"What do you want?" she asked.

"A lot of things," Moshu said simply, dragging Chase's chair towards the chaise lounge. "But right now I want you to think about something as you eat."

Chase's brows knitted in confusion. "You're…you're letting me eat?"

"Can't have you falling over for the buyer. Need to be presentable." The man held a fork full of something she couldn't see—it looked like meat and rice with confetti on it—and shoved it towards her mouth. "Eat."

Gingerly, Chase accepted the bite. The food was actually pretty good. "What did you want?" she asked between a couple more bites.

"What were you doing out there?" Moshu asked sternly. "Pretty girls like you shouldn't be interfering in a man's business."

Chase kept quiet. Another forkful of rice was shoved towards her mouth, which she accepted. "Now, no more until you talk," the man said.

"Then no more," she replied. As Moshu turned towards the door, she whispered, "They're going to do worse anyway."

"You smell," Moshu said. "Have the boss draw you a bath."

Though she wanted nothing more than to clean up, the idea of taking a shower or bath of any kind in front of these people disgusted her. _Better to stay filthy than be humiliated,_ she reasoned. The door slammed, and Chase heard footsteps walk a little ways and then stop. They did not descend the stairs.

_Then again,_ she thought, _maybe I can use it to get the hell out of here…_

-----

"Explain this to me again, genius," Monet whined as he stood in the small bathroom watching his friend draw the woman a bath. "How is cleaning her up going to make her talk?"

"It's simple," he explained. "If we make her feel a little more comfortable, she might let some of her guard down and open up."

"I'd rather just shoot the bitch," Monet fumed.

"And then have the buyer pissed. Smart."

"I don't need brains. Why I keep you around." Monet cracked a smile at that."

"You got brains. You just like being scary."

"That, too." As soon as Moshu finished, Monet stormed back into the parlor room where the woman sat. "Now, you're going to behave real nice for me, aren't you?" he said with a snarl to his voice. "No tricks, no trying to run…"

The woman said nothing. She merely hung her head.

"I'll take that as a 'yes'," Monet said, cutting the cords that held her to the chair. "Watch her," he said as he leaned in to unlock the cuffs around her ankles—the ones that were still usable.

Chase knew she should try to fight back, but she didn't move a muscle. _I've only got one chance at this,_ she said, _and I'm running on empty. _As she was unbound, she gave her captors the illusion that there was no more fight left in her, when the idea was as far from the truth as one could get.

Satisfied that the woman would cooperate, Monet pressed the barrel of his new gun into her back. "Try and run, bitch," he goaded. "Buyer or no buyer, it'll be the last move you make."

_We'll see about that,_ Chase thought. Silently, she allowed herself to be led towards the bathroom, where the tall man was waiting. Just before she reached the threshold of the door, however, she sank to the ground on wobbly legs, falling in a heap near the mouth of the staircase.

"Get up," the shorter man said, the point of her 'Hector' drawing dangerously close to her head. "Right now."

Chase made it look like she was trying, but secretly she was hoping for the man to come a little closer. _Come on, asshole,_ she thought. _Come on down and get me…_

"Bitch, I told you to get up!" the shorter man yelled, reaching down for Chase's shoulder. As he crouched down, Chase immediately sprang up, knocking the man off-balance and right into the threshold of the bathroom where his friend stood. The pair fell backwards, collapsing in a heap.

Before anyone knew what was happening, Chase ran down the stairs, her hands still taped but her legs free. She scrambled across the wooden floor, trying to gain traction and find an accessible exit. The sounds of shouts and heavy footfalls began to grow louder as they drew close.

"Catch that bitch!" Chase hard the shorter man scream, and a few more sounds signaled him getting to his feet. _"Catch her!"_

Suddenly four new faces showed themselves, and Chase quickly tried to backtrack through the house. Her eyes darted for an available exit, but all she could find were solid walls and doors to other rooms. Thinking fast, the woman threw herself into one of the doors, nearly falling as it swung open. The room looked like an old dining room, and it had three large windows off to one side.

"Go out back!" the man yelled as the others discovered the door ajar. "Don't lose her!"

Chase heaved panting breaths as she quickly mustered the courage to bolt for the panes of wood and glass and broke through them. She fell to the ground, earning herself a few gashes as the sharp edges of the window glass cut through her clothes. The fall stunned her a little, and it took a few seconds to set herself right.

"Outside!" the men screamed. "She's getting away!"

The sounds of footsteps echoed off the hard ground, hurrying towards where Chase lay. Pulling herself up off the stiff earth, she darted towards the front of the house where she knew there was a street. _"Help me!" _she screamed at the top of her lungs. _"Someone please, help me!"_

-----

Her name was Lady Rachel. She had a last name too, but after three husbands and a lifetime in Ozone Park there really wasn't a need for it. Everyone knew the woman who was quick with love and advice and not afraid to stand up for herself—her husband Thomas had taught her that much, after thirty-five years of marriage.

The early mornings were Lady Rachel's time to shine. A lifelong baker, she still continued her craft even after being 'retired' almost ten years from the catering and bake shop she and Thomas used to run, that had been started by her late husband Paul. Her second marriage had been happy, but short due to Paul's congestive heart failure. She often worried her son Roy would suffer in his father's fate, and she egged him to get checked every year.

_Nothing like fresh bread and donuts in the morning,_ the woman thought, absently touching her now blue-gray hair. The color suited her dusky complexion, and she usually wore it in a tight ponytail. _Why I gotta get that dough set to rising now, so it's ready to bake when I get up._

The songs of the chirping birds and the stillness of the night air was broken by a loud scream. _"Help me!" _it said, carried on by the voice of what Lady Rachel thought was a young woman. _"Someone please, help me!"_

_What on earth… _the older woman thought, walking out to her front door to see what could possibly be causing the screams. Lady Rachel knew all of her neighbors—most had been here since she'd bought the place with her deadbeat first husband Jack, who'd abandoned her only a year after they were married. The divorce had come through two years later. As soon as she cracked the door, something large and hard plunged right into the steel barrier, shoving Lady Rachel off to the side and making the object sprawl out onto the carpeted floor.

"Now what in the…" Lady Rachel began, but she soon stopped when she saw what had fallen into her living room—the gasping, heaving body of a young woman, looking as beat up as a cat in an alley fight. "Dear Lord, child," she cried. "Are you all right?"

"Call…call the police," the older woman heard the girl say through heaving breaths. "And lock the doors!"

Lady Rachel wasted no time in doing both. Once the call had been made and the doors secured, she also went upstairs to fetch Thomas's shotgun. The girl struggled to pick herself up, and Lady Rachel noticed that her hands were bound with something shiny.

"What kind of trouble you in?" the former baker asked.

"Big trouble, ma'am," the girl said. "Please, help me."

Lady Rachel grabbed the shotgun, expertly loading it. "Can you shoot?"

"If I had my hands…"

A pair of sewing scissors made quick work of the bonds. The young woman took the shotgun and cocked it, holding the weapon as though she'd been using one for years. "This work?" she asked.

"I cleaned it after my husband died, but I can't lift it to shoot no more," she explained quickly. "Thought I'd leave it to my son Charles…"

Soon the sounds of voices floated outside on the front porch. "Hey, bitch," one voice said, a voice Lady Rachel was certain the girl knew. "We know you're in there…"

The young woman shook her head, and pointed up the stairs. "Go," she said, her voice a whisper. "I'll be okay."

Lady Rachel wasn't so sure. She did go upstairs, but she got on the cell phone her daughter Ramona had gotten her for Christmas. It sat up there, unused, but it was charged.

"Come out, come out, bitch," the voices taunted, the steel doors a bit of a problem for the guns Chase knew they carried. "Come quiet-like, and we won't hurt the old lady…"

Chase knew that was a pipe dream. The old woman was as dead as she would be if she let them capture her again. She made a point of readying the shotgun, letting them hear that she was both free and armed.

"Shit, Monet," another voice said. "She's armed too!"

"Yeah, but I got this," Chase heard the ringleader say, and a second later she heard a soft _pfft_ sound as a bullet hit the lock on the door. Chase was thankful that the door was steel and had a reinforced lock, but she knew that one more bullet could be the last. Hiding in a dark corner, Chase waited for the door to break open.

"One more chance, bitch," she heard the ringleader say. "Come out now."

Suddenly a blinding light raged on, its source coming from across the street. The sounds of angry people sounded in the street, and Chase was thankful hear the sound of sirens in the distance. "Shit!" she hear her former captors say as their feet scampered off the front porch and around the back. A triumphant voice cried out, having caught one of the fleeing explosives dealers near a large wooden fence.

"Hey, Lady Rachel," a young voice called out, a voice that Chase didn't recognize. "You all right?"

"Lord, I am now, honey," the older woman—Lady Rachel, Chase realized—said happily as she took her time heading down the stairs. "Rich, that you?"

"Yeah, Lady Rachel. My grandma said I should come out. You sure everything's all right?"

The older woman threw the lock on the door and admitted her 'savior.' "Look for yourself."

The young man saw streaks of blood on the cream-colored carpet and shotgun shells littered from a box on the floor. A young woman held the weapon in her hands, now resting the stock on the floor and crying. "Hey, hey," he said, reaching out for her. "It's okay. They're gone."

"Are the police coming?" the young lady whispered through her tears.

"Yeah, but…" Rich saw where the blood on Lady Rachel's carpet had come from. "Lady Rachel!" he called out. "Call an ambulance!"

"No, no, I'm…I'm fine…" the girl started to protest, but Rich made her lay down on the floor. He ran to the upstairs bathroom, where he knew Lady Rachel kept a treasure trove of first-aid items—the habit of a woman who had 'doctored' her three children and more than a passel of neighborhood kids like himself.

"Here," Rich said, pouring rubbing alcohol onto a cotton ball. "This might sting a little…" He watched as the girl winced in pain as he applied the cotton to her wrists.

"That _does_ hurt," she said, hitching her breath.

"Child, what makes men like that chase after a girl like you?" Lady Rachel asked as soon as she got off the phone again.

"It's…it's a long story, ma'am," Chase answered.

"Short version, then," the older woman pushed.

The younger woman took a deep breath as Rich kept trying to clean her wounds. "I'm a private investigator…"

"Jealous husbands?"

"No, ma'am. I'm…I'm working for the government right now…"

"Government?" Rich asked. "They don't have enough people to look in windows on their own?"

"Like I said, it's a long story."

"And those people out there…"

"I have to report them. They're helping to plan something…something very bad," she said, hoping that her rescuers would accept it as an answer. "I can't say any more than that, I'm afraid."

"Hmm," Lady Rachel huffed, though not in anger. "Well, important thing is you're safe."

"If not sound," Rich said. "These wrists…"

"Yeah. Those were the second people to have 'taken' me, actually…"

"The 'second'?"

Chase chuckled a little. "Drug dealers. They pissed off the people you met—no offense."

"Maybe I don't need to know," Lady Rachel decided. "But here's what I do know—you need to eat."

An amused breath escaped Chase's lips. "I'd kill for a cheeseburger…"

"Don't have none of that," Lady Rachel said firmly. "But I got some turkey off the bone and some stuffing leftover…"

Chase smiled. "I'll take it. Thank you."

"You got a name, child?"

"Chase. Chase Davis."

"I'm Rich," the young man said, resignedly laying down his cotton balls full of rubbing alcohol and wrapping the wrists with gauze. "And that's Lady Rachel, the best cook and baker in Ozone Park."

"Where am I?"

"Ozone Park, Queens," the young man said. Just then the flash of red lights illuminated the room, and the medics knocked on the door. "Come in," he said, ushering them in. "She's right over here."

The sight of more unfamiliar people made Chase nervous. "It's all right," Rich told her, gently prodding the woman to go with the medics. "They're not going to hurt you."

Desperate to cling to something familiar, Chase asked, "Can you go with me? I'm…"

"You're afraid they might come back?"

The young woman nodded. "Once I'm there I can call my friends—they'll know what to do with me."

Rich hesitated. If this woman was in as much trouble as that, a part of his common sense said to get as far away as he could. On the other hand, his grandmother hadn't raised a coward either…

"All right, but then we'll call your friends."

"Thanks."

Suddenly blue lights appeared in the red ones, and Rich knew the police were there. "Hey, Lady Rachel," he called out. "The cops are here."

"Bout time," the older woman spat. "Always late." She held out a paper bag to Chase and said, "Now, you eat that. And Rich, make sure she does."

"Yes, ma'am," the young man said. "Now, come on. Off to the hospital."

Chase clutched the paper bag and silently got into the waiting ambulance, pulling out her cell phone. "O-Oliver?" she said hesitantly. "It's me. I'm okay, but they're taking me to…" Chase looked over at the medic. "What hospital?"

"St. Anne's."

"St. Anne's hospital in Queens. Yeah, okay. Bye."

"Your friends?"

"Yeah. They're on their way." For the first time in over two days, Chase heaved a sigh of relief.


	14. Chapter 14

**Usual disclaimers.

* * *

**

"Mac, she's at St. Anne's Hospital, somewhere in Queens," Oliver said as he hung up the phone.

"You want to go over there," the lab supervisor said. It wasn't a question.

"Yeah," Oliver replied, a great weight lifting off his shoulders. "We need to know what's going on, and she's our best source—for you and me both."

Mac nodded. He realized the woman's clothes, prints, and statement were vital if Josh's theory about an attack on the city were true. He quickly made a turn and started heading towards the Queensborough Bridge. There was something that had been nagging at him, however.

"Leverage," he said, thinking aloud.

"I'm sorry?"

"You said that these people would try to use her as leverage," the older man clarified. "Then you said, 'again.' I'm getting the feeling that this has happened before."

Oliver looked uncomfortably at his lap. He fidgeted a little with his hands. "It has," the younger investigator admitted. "To each of us—me, Kyle, and now Chase."

"I'm beginning to think you spend a lot of time watching each other's backs." A small smile crept over Mac's face, but it seemed to him that Oliver barely noticed it.

"You have no idea. We're all we have."

"I, ah, don't follow…"

Oliver sighed. "My family is gone, Mac. My parents have been dead a long time—illness—and my sister was murdered about four years ago. Chase's parents died in a car accident when she was twelve. Her godfather was murdered eight years ago. Kyle's the only one with family, and we've just kinda become a part of that."

Mac tipped his head again, and this time Oliver noticed. The older man knew well the concept that the younger spoke of.

"My question is, how did she escape?" Oliver mused.

"From the way you both talk, it sounds like she'd be capable of such a thing."

"She would. What I mean is, why now? Why not earlier?"

"The evidence can maybe help with that. Hawkes and Stella and Danny and Lindsay are up and at it—we'll find out."

"So is Kyle." The Avalanche pulled into St. Anne's, and Oliver nearly leaped from the car as Mac killed the engine. "Come on—who knows what she knows…"

_Or what might have tried to follow her,_ Mac thought. Looking at Oliver's eyes, he knew the same thought had crossed the younger man's mind.

----

"Geez," Danny said, letting a low whistle slip.

"Yeah," Flack echoed. "Nice work, dealing explosives."

The two were walking up to the apartment that was registered to one Caldwell Duchens—a penthouse on Park Ave. that was worth more than either man made in a year. An express elevator took them to the twenty-eighth floor, which held nothing but spacious, pricey apartments of equal caliber. As they reached Duchens's door, the two stopped and assumed the position.

"Caldwell Duchens," Flack called out, his voice so loud a dozen neighbors could hear. "Open up—we've got a warrant."

Not a sound came from the apartment. "Break it," Danny said. Flack happily obliged, knocking the ebony door off its hinges.

The foyer area was roughly the size of Danny's living room. The floor plan allowed for a great view of the city skyline, and though it was huge, it was empty. It took ten minutes for the two detectives to clear the place.

"All this for one guy?" Danny said. "Man, I must be in the wrong business."

"Hey, I know for a fact you love what you're doin'," Flack countered. "Playing with your microscopes and your processing machines and those little toolbox kits of yours…"

"Plus the added bonus of catching bad guys," Danny added. "Can't forget that."

"Of course."

Flack called in to report that the place was empty and that Duchens was in the wind, and Danny started to process. "Should call Stella—this is gonna take a while all by myself," the CSI reasoned.

"I'll call," Flack said. "You go do your thing. Once I do I'll start talking to the neighbors."

"Okay." Something caught Danny's eye lying near the wall of the foyer, and he stooped down to pick it up. "Wires," he chortled. "What'd you wanna bet they're detonator wires?"

"Not that crazy," Flack said, shaking his head. "Takin' a bet I'm certain to lose." He then got through at the lab. "Hey, Stella," he said. "We're at Duchens's apartment and there's no sign of 'em…yeah, Danny's with me, but this place is ginormous—he's gonna need a hand." The detective paused. "Twenty minutes? Sure, I'll tell 'im." Flack then hung up. "Stel says she'll be here in twenty. She's got the address."

"Great," Danny said, moving on to the living room. "I'm thinking this is gonna take a while…"

-----

Outside the apartment, a lone figure stood with an ear to the doorway, careful not to be noticed. The chatter from the people inside was telling the man everything he needed to know.

_They don't know yet,_ he thought with a small smile. _Not the larger picture…the boss will be pleased. As for Monet, well—history has a way of remembering the revolutionaries, not the 'little people.'_

After about ten minutes, the man heard footsteps echoing down the hallway. He quickly continued on down the hall, blending in as though he belonged in such an elegant place as this.

-----

"Chase Davis?" Oliver asked at the desk, pulling out his credentials. "She's my friend…"

"She said to expect you. Down the hall, third room on the left."

"Thanks," the young man said as he hurried down the corridor, nearly losing Mac in the process. His breathing started to relax when he saw the sight of Chase lying in a hospital bed, her clothes gone but her battered frame covered in hospital linens and a gown.

"Thank God," he said, hurrying in. Chase looked up from the person she had been talking to—a young man that looked to be about twenty or so—and smiled.

"Ollie," she said, her face breaking into a smile. "That was fast."

"We came to New York as soon as you didn't call," Oliver replied. Looking over at his host in the city, he said, "This is Detective Mac Taylor with the crime lab here. He's letting us work on this case."

"I don't think 'letting' is the word," Mac said, sitting down. "More like a mutual arrangement."

"Thank you," Chase said, taking the older man's hand. "I hope we've been helpful."

Mac just smiled a thin smile. "Did they bag your clothes?"

"Yes. I asked that they do that—I had planned to drop them with the FBI's lab, but I've heard good things about yours." Chase produced a paper bag that had been sealed. "I haven't cleaned up since Saturday," she explained, waving a hand over her dirty limbs and face.

"Perfect," the scientist said simply, pulling his kit up to the bed.

"What happened?" Oliver said.

"Ollie. You know I can't…"

"Josh is here too. We know." The look on Oliver's face said he wasn't taking 'no comment' for an answer.

"Oh." Chase sighed. Then she looked at the young man sitting nearby. "Thanks, Rich. Tell Lady Rachel I'm sorry to have caused a mess."

"I will, Miss Davis," the younger man said. "I know she's just glad you're all right." With that, the man left, but not before giving Mac and Oliver his information.

"Now, you were about to tell me…"

"I tracked the deal to an alley in Chinatown—the one in Queens, not in Manhattan," Chase began.

"That much we know," Mac said as he began taking swabs from Chase's skin and cleaning under her nails. "My CSI's had to clean up after that bloodbath."

"It was. Parts of it I still can't remember…"

"Just start with what you do know. The evidence will tell us whether it happened or not," Mac said gently.

"Okay," Chase said, looking at her hands. "I followed them to the alley—strange place to have this high-profile of a buy, but…"

"Then what?" Oliver prodded.

"Looked like things were going to go well. I got a face—no name. Then the coke dealers crashed the party."

"Surprise?"

"There was yelling, guns got drawn, and I knew enough to try and get out of there," Chase said. "Never made it. I heard gunfire, saw a body go down, and then I had hands on me and a prick to the neck. After that, nothing."

"They injected you with something?" Mac asked.

"Yeah. I'm not sure what, but when I woke up I didn't have withdrawal symptoms—no shakes, no vomiting, no nausea."

"Something experimental?" Oliver wondered.

"Or possibly just something they kept on hand to surprise people," Mac said as he gently swabbed the injection mark he'd found on the back of the woman's neck. "Could be morphine, or chloroform, or a type of anesthetic…we won't know until we run it through tox."

"Whatever it was, it worked," Chase said. "Next thing I knew I was trussed up like a turkey and chained to a bed with my own handcuffs."

"That's what the Chinese girl said," Mac mused.

"Chinese girl?"

"Ling Ling," the older man clarified. "She said you had 'silver bracelets' around your ankles that were connected by a chain."

"Custom made, those," Chase grumbled. "Supposed to withstand a thousand pounds of pressure. Like hell."

"Anyway, you were trussed up…" Oliver prompted.

"It was hot. Like boiling sauna hot. And dark—no windows, no lights, no nothing. I felt like a damn turkey in an oven roaster."

"They kept you like this the entire time?" Mac asked.

"No. The girl, Ling Ling, she tried to give me food and water, but I got the impression she wasn't there of her own will either."

"Her brother used her to pay off a drug debt," Oliver said.

"Christ. Anyway, I got knocked around a little—the one in charge decided he'd try to 'sell' me to the dealers that had encroached on his 'turf.' Kept asking what I knew, and what I was doing there. Got some nice bruises for the trouble, as you can see." Chase pointed out a set of yellowing bruises along her torso and her jawline.

"Ouch."

"Could've been worse."

"That's true," Oliver said. "Then what?"

"I spend what feels like days in that hotbox, trying to get even a drop of water. The other guy that was there, he gave me a little, but he wanted questions answered. They were simple, so I gave him a little. Nothing of value."

"One of these days you're not going to get so lucky, Chasie," Oliver cautioned.

"I'll cross that bridge when I come to it."

"So two days in a dark, hot room, very little food, very little water…" Mac prompted, carefully checking for any small bits of trace that might still be on her skin.

"Then I get Gunfight, Round Two. Lots of yelling, lots of insisting that I be 'given up' to the explosive dealers…"

"Duchens," Oliver said.

"You got a name?"

"Caldwell Duchens. Mac's people are searching his place, and there's a warrant. Kyle's also going over his financials as we speak."

"He didn't shoot anybody, did he?" The question made Mac sit up a little and take notice.

Oliver laughed. "Well, he did threaten the Chief of Detectives…"

"Oh, hell."

"It's all right," Mac said. "He was in the right. Plus, your friend Josh backed him up, which was a plus."

"So, if anyone asks, we hired a forensic scientist named Adam Ross, okay?" Oliver finished.

Chase looked at her partner skeptically. "Is he good?"

"Better than good. Plus he works his ass off."

"Then I trust you and Kyle made the right decision. Should I add him to payroll?"

"Okay, okay," Mac said, finishing up his 'exam' and locking the freshly collected evidence into his kit. "So then what?"

"Bloodbath, Round Two. The coke dealers are dead. I was the 'prize.' That's why I was surprised to hear Ling Ling survived—I know they went after everyone. Didn't want to leave witnesses that could lead anyone back to me."

"Why you?" Mac wondered.

"A woman, and a pretty decent PI at that, comes snooping around, people take notice," Chase explained simply.

"Chase, there are legends about your 'decent PI skills'," Oliver pointed out.

The woman merely shrugged. "Eh. It happens. Anyway, I get taken to this old house, shoved upstairs, and strapped to an old rocker. The main dealer—Duchens, you say—kept doing the same thing the cokeheads were."

"Trying to get information," Oliver said.

"Yep. Took some hits off them, too. I was up there most of the day, and for some reason they decided to 'clean me up.' Said they didn't want me 'going to the buyer dirty,' or something like that. I heard water running in one of the rooms—you find the house and I bet you find a full bathtub or something," Chase reasoned. "And a broken window."

"Explains the glass," Mac said, looking at a couple of the cuts on the woman's arms. "Plate glass?"

"One of those old picture windows?" she asked, as though she wasn't quite sure. "I never did get the names of that stuff right."

Mac made a mental note to check out the latest crime scene in Queens. He stepped out briefly to make a call, leaving Oliver and Chase alone for a moment.

"So what happened then?" Oliver asked, his eyes showing just how grateful he was to have the woman next to him safe and sound.

"Ran across the street, to this woman's house," Chase said, her voice getting wobbly with exhaustion. She yawned deeply. "Doctors said I had to stay at least two days," she explained. "I think they slipped me a sedative to get me to sleep."

"Have you actually slept?"

"I passed out a few times," the woman admitted. "I think I slept a couple times for a bit just because I was that exhausted. Fighting takes a lot out of a girl, you know." She smiled a little, trying to show her friend that she was all right.

"Kyle'll be thrilled," Oliver said. "I didn't get a chance to text him yet…"

"And you're waiting on...what? Christmas?"

"I'll finish the statement. Then I'll text."

"Fine. I fell into this lady's house, and thankfully she cut me loose and kept her head," Chase relayed. "Plus she had a shotgun."

"That reminds me," Oliver said. "What happened to 'Hector'?"

A sour look crossed Chase's face. "Bastards still have my gun. I want that back, Ollie."

"I have a feeling Mac and his crew are going to use that gun as a mark," Oliver told her. "We find the gun, we're going to find our masterminds."

"Or at least their suppliers." Chase's face looked gloomy. "All this and we've only got one name. Dammit."

"We're somewhere."

"Are we?"

Oliver nodded slightly. "We are. Now, there's two new crime scenes I know those scientists are going to want to scour, and in the meantime I'm having some protection put on you—just to be safe."

"Oliver. I'm not helpless."

"But you are wounded as well as exhausted. You need the rest. Let someone else take the wheel this time, huh?"

Chase sighed. "Fine. But make sure you keep Kyle in check, huh? Someone goes threatening his new friends and you know what'll happen…"

"Like I said, he made a lot of new friends at the lab, but not with the Chief of Detectives."

"Did the guy deserve it?" Chase posed.

Oliver set his face in one of those unreadable looks for a moment. "Yeah," he said finally. "At least Josh says so."

"Then he did good," Chase decided. "So now I have a forensic scientist on the payroll…and he's good, you say?"

"He's the reason we're here," Oliver told her. "He ran your DNA through CODIS and found your flagged file."

"Then he _is_ good," she said. "I like hiring good people."

"As well I know."

-----

"God damn it!" Monet cursed as he and Moshu heaved deep breaths, having run nearly two miles in an attempt to evade capture. "Bitch escaped—the buyer's gonna be _pissed!_"

"Maybe not," Moshu said, still speaking slowly as a result of his lungs being on fire from the sudden oxygen deprivation they'd suffered.

"Are you losing it? No dame, no deal!"

"What if…"

"What?"

"What if we steal her back?"

"From the cops?!" Monet slapped his friend in the head. "Now I _know_ you're stupid!"

"No, listen," Moshu reasoned. "We find out where they took her, then we slip in all quiet like and snatch her back. Maybe we get lucky, find ourselves a little more 'leverage' to sweeten the deal."

Monet thought about the plan for a long moment. "Damn," he said. "I knew there was a reason I kept you around."

"Don't you know it," Moshu said, a thin grin etching his face. Several of the other 'boys' were nearby, all heaving deep breaths as well. One of Monet's men had been caught by the neighborhood do-gooders, and that was a factor that had to be reckoned with.

"We gotta take care of Terrence," Monet said finally. "And I know just how we're gonna nail two birds with one stone…"


	15. Chapter 15

**Usual disclaimers.

* * *

**

Adam picked himself up from the mountain of evidence that was streaming in from the coke dealers' place in Queens. The DNA alone was enough to keep him busy for several weeks. "How many people were _in _that house?" he wondered to himself as the samples continued to run through several databases.

Nearby, Kyle continued poring over his laptop screen. A dark, confused look crossed his face, and he began tapping randomly on the clear tabletop. The noise started to grate on Adam's nerves.

"What's up?" the tech finally asked, tapping Kyle on the shoulder.

Kyle handed Adam the laptop, where he saw a host of financial information plastered over the screen. –There's a lot of things wrong with this picture,-- he said, making use of the translator that had continued to stick around. –See those?—

Adam looked at the numbers Kyle was showing him, all from a bank in the Netherlands Antilles. Streams of numbered accounts looked as though they were depleting rather than accepting money by the week. "If this guy's making a major sale…"

--Then why is his bank account suddenly getting smaller?—

"Worm program?"

--I thought of that. I ran my own check through the bank's system, and there's no worm. Maybe a virus I haven't seen before, but then I'd have to have access to a larger sample of accounts to determine that.—

Adam looked at the numbers that were on the screen. "A hundred thousand one week, couple hundred the next. These things are all over the map."

--Maybe our dealers aren't doing as well as we'd like to think.-- Kyle shrugged. –Between buys, there's got to be living expense money. Plus paying the crew, the occasional 'purchase'…but see here?-- The investigator pointed to a few lines on the screen.

The lab tech studied the information for a moment. "That's a lot of money leaving all at once."

--Even for a dealer. Either he's making something very new and different, or he's banking on the tried-and-true to make it work. In any case, that's a lot of money going out with no replenishment.—

"Maybe he was waiting on the sale?"

--But why? The buyer might decide not to take your merchandise. Then you've spent all that money on a deal you won't get paid for.—

The two sat for a moment, trying to figure out what could have made the anomaly. Nothing came to either of them. Just then Kyle jumped a little, and he pulled out his Blackberry. –"She's alive!"—he cried, his hands talking as fast as his voice was.

"Your friend?"

Kyle nodded vigorously. --Oliver's with her—he says to keep working on finding these dealers and their buyer—we're not out of the woods yet. He and Mac are going to a crime scene in Queens…--

Adam sighed. "Same one?"

--No, different. A couple houses in Ozone Park, wherever that is.—

"I know the place. They want some help?"

Kyle punched in the offer. He then turned the screen towards Adam. _Yes._ The address followed.

"At the rate we're going we're going to need more CSI's on this case," the tech said simply, grabbing his kit. "Um…"

--I won't touch. I too know how chain of custody works.-- Kyle settled back down with his computer, trying to figure out this anomaly and what could have caused a relatively smart dealer to start going on a spending spree.

-----

In an adjacent cubicle near the DNA lab, a lone figure had kept their ear close to the door. Conversations had become critical, and the smallest bit of information could help 'alleviate' some of the massive 'debt' that loomed for one tech in particular. _Maybe Monet will take information,_ the tech thought. _I know he's probably pissed this dame got away…_

As the translator for the deaf guy gave the girl's whereabouts to Adam, the tech pulled out a cell phone. Looking around to ensure that privacy was assured, the lab's new mole dialed a familiar number. "Hey, that dame," the tech whispered, not wanting to be overheard. "I hear she's at St. Anne's over in Queens."

"Good," a familiar voice said, full of relief. "I'd say you might be owing me less for that. How about my boy Terrence?"

"I got nothing on that here," the mole said. "But they got your number, Monet. They're on your place now as we speak."

"Shit," Monet spat on the other end. "All right. Thanks for the heads-up. You want another 'credit' on your 'account,' you find out where Terrence is and what he's been sayin', got me?"

"Can do. I've got a friend up there that might be useful."

"All right. Now we're talking."

The mole quickly hung up as Adam passed the cubicle and headed for the door. _Can't afford to get caught,_ the tech thought, turning towards the mountain of evidence that had been charged to them to process. _Not when I can use the 'connection' to pay off my debt…_

-----

"Find anything?" Stella asked as she walked into the enormous apartment Danny was busy processing.

"Coupla wires—maybe detonator wires," Danny replied, not looking up from the wall he was busy printing. "A few prints, some more of the gray stuff we found earlier in Chinatown…"

"How much?"

"Two bricks," Danny replied, pointing at the pile sitting on the floor near the middle of the room. "Found 'em in the kitchen, of all places."

"Sample product?"

"Who knows? My guess is yeah."

"Okay. So we know this guy Duchens is about to make a very big deal, and it's going down in Chinatown. We also know he likes selling this C4—what's so great about it?"

"If placed right, it can take down whole buildings," Danny reasoned. "Don't need much."

"Yeah, but from the way Josh Hollenbeck was talking…"

"Yes?" a voice said, floating in. Soon the pair were standing face-to-face with the man in question.

"Got lost, huh?"

"The traffic een thees ceety ees 'orrible!" the large man steamed. "Nearly an 'our to travel two miles!"

"Welcome to New York," Danny quipped, causing the three to chuckle. He then filled the agent in on what he'd found.

"They 'ave found Mlle. Davis," Josh told them.

"Where?" Stella wondered.

"Een Queens," Josh told her. "Eet seems M. Duchens 'ad a secondary reseedence."

"Maybe we should go there?" Danny asked.

"_Non, non_," Josh said, shaking his head. His French accent was getting thicker as he spoke. "M. Taylor ees there, weeth Oh-lee-vair. They 'ave already called for more peeple. M. Taylor also said that 'e wanted to know what was 'ere een thees Duchens's reseedence."

"Not a lot, as you can tell. I'm guessin' he had a warehouse or some other place he kept his product."

"Steel, ees eet not worth the time to look?"

Both Stella and Danny got back to work while Josh inspected the C4 bricks that Danny had discovered. "Eenteresting," he said.

"What?"

"See thees color on the breeks, M. Messer?" Josh asked.

"Gray. So what?"

"Weel, normal C4 ees gray, but thees is gray mixed with some sort of blue een eet."

"Not normal," Stella reasoned.

"No. Eet ees not. Sometheeng 'as been mixed weeth thees explosive—what, though, I cannot say."

"We're taking it back to the lab," Danny said. "You want I should go with this, Stella?"

Stella thought a moment. "How far did you get in processing?"

"About halfway. All that's left are the bedrooms—three of 'em."

The woman looked around, as though she were missing something. "Where's Flack?" she asked.

"You called?" the detective said as he walked in, his usual humor shining through. "I talked to all the tenants on the floor—this guy Duchens was pretty discreet about his business. A lot of the neighbors thought he might be, and I quote, 'into something,' but most thought it was drugs."

"There wasn't any sign of drugs, not that I found," Danny said. "Just that." He pointed to the gray bricks in Josh's hands.

"Yeah, I can see where the neighbors might make the mistake," Flack said. "From a distance, it looks a little like something designer."

"Anything else?"

"Nope. No loud parties, no business in his apartment that they could tell—in fact, only a few people ever seemed to come by—that guy across the hall had a description of one of 'em. I'm arranging for him to sit with a sketch artist."

"Every little bit helps." Stella filled Flack in on Josh's news.

"Someone take her statement?"

"Yes," Josh replied. "M. Taylor and Oh-lee-vair. She ees being kept for obsairvation."

"Josh, can you take that back to the lab?" Stella asked. "We need to find out what's in that sample."

"Of course," the Frenchman said, placing the evidence in the bag. "Mlle. Monroe weel be most pleased, I am cairtain."

"Yes, she will," Danny said. "I'll call her, tell her it's on its way." Danny dialed the familiar number, but was surprised when he got her voicemail. "That's odd," he said.

"What?"

"Lindsay's not picking up."

"She pairhaps 'as turned the phone off?" Josh wondered.

"Not Lindsay," Danny countered. He tried the lab phone, and got some tech on the other line. "Hey, can you tell me where Lindsay is? She's not picking up… uh huh… uh huh…okay, well, tell her that she's got some high-priority evidence comin', all right? Thanks."

"She wasn't there?"

"Said she 'stepped out.' Probably downstairs to get a pretzel—she's been having those cravings like six times a day now."

"And she left her phone?" Stella wondered.

"Must've." The look on Danny's face said he wasn't all that sure either.

"I weel go. The sooner, the better." Josh collected the bags of explosive and started for the door.

"Me too. I'll go with the evidence for chain of custody, find out what's goin' on with Lindsay," Flack said.

"Thanks, Don," Stella said. Danny's face said it all.

----

The ride to the hospital was a long one, but one Lindsay needed to take. She missed being in the field, but realized it was for both her and the baby's sake—and, truth be told, for Danny's. _If he knew I was going to collect this little bit of evidence, he'd start to worry,_ she thought. _But there's something funny about that explosive…and there's not enough to match with the sample we've got._

Lindsay had learned from Adam that there was another site in Queens to process, and that he was headed out there. She had asked what had happened to Chase Davis, and the tech had given his colleague all the information he had. "Mac did the process of her himself, I guess," Adam had told her. "I'm heading out now to this house the explosives dealers kept her in…"

"Okay." Lindsay had started processing some of the items that had come in from the earlier site in Queens, and some of the grayish trace on the vics' clothes seemed like the compound she and Josh had processed earlier—the straight C4. However, there was an unfamiliar peak that had cropped up on the GCMS report that came back as 'unknown'.

_If I could get a larger sample, I can maybe figure out what's in there,_ Lindsay reasoned. She'd looked around for someone to hand the field component off to—she knew that in her 'condition' she shouldn't be running around where she might be hurt on the job—but everyone was already out. She'd thought of sending Kyle, but though he was a credentialed law enforcement official, he wasn't accredited to the lab and the chain of custody might break if he went to retrieve the sample she needed. There was one person out there who might have some trace on her, and Lindsay couldn't wait for Mac's kit to arrive—Adam had said that their supervisor was already en route to the secondary scene in Queens. _The buyers might be setting up their 'demonstration' as we speak, _the CSI thought.

Undaunted, Lindsay headed downstairs and hailed a cab. Driving had become a problem since she'd gotten further along, and she really liked the fact that she lived in a city with lots of public transportation. "St. Anne's hospital, Queens, and step on it," she said.

"Expensive trip, lady," the cabbie replied, looking at her extended stomach. "What, your HMO sending you out there to cut costs?"

"Just drive." The trip went rather silently after that. Lindsay clutched her kit—the one that had been fully stocked woefully out of service for some time—and nearly raced out of the cab as it pulled into the lot at the hospital.

"Hey, lady," the cabbie cried. "The fare!"

Sixty dollars later, Lindsay was walking into the hospital, displaying her credentials and asking for directions to Chase Davis's room. She again displayed her badge when she saw the guards posted at the door, and then walked in to where the woman was lying quietly, listening to the radio.

"No TV?" Lindsay asked, startling the other woman a little. The scientist was surprised to see that the investigator was considerably younger than she was, but not by much.

"Nah. I actually prefer the radio." She chuckled a little. "Kinda strange, considering I grew up in a silent town."

"How can a whole town silent?" Lindsay wondered.

"It's full of deaf people, as well as a school and college for the deaf."

"Oh." Lindsay held out her hand. "I'm Lindsay Monroe. I'm with the crime lab."

"Ah. One of Det. Taylor's people, huh?"

"Yep."

"Chase Davis. Nice to meet you. Though, and I hope you don't find me rude, aren't you supposed to stay 'inside'?" The investigator's eyes traveled over to Lindsay's midsection.

"Everyone's out, and I really need to find a better sample of some trace."

"And you think I have it?"

"You might. We know you were held by the explosives dealers…"

"Duchens," Chase said. "They told me the name. I didn't know until Oliver and your Det. Taylor told me."

"Well, we found C4 trace from the alley, but there were traces from the cokehouse that didn't match the makeup. I hoped maybe there was some trace on you or your clothes that might help pinpoint this thing."

"I'm sorry," Chase said, and her face mirrored the sentiment. "I gave everything I had to Det. Taylor. All my clothes, his collected samples…"

"Do you mind if I go over you once more? Just to see if there's anything that might still be here?"

"Not at all," Chase said, pulling back the sheets. As Lindsay worked, the two began to chat—about work, about their colleagues, about everything and anything that wasn't classified.

"So your husband's a scientist too?" Chase asked. "That's interesting."

"Yeah. Danny would freak if he knew I was out here."

"Protective, huh?"

"He's looking forward to having this baby even more than I am, I think. And I'm really looking forward to it."

"Not married very long, huh?"

Lindsay twisted the small band around her finger. It was still tight from her pregnancy weight, but she knew that it would fit better after the baby was born. "Just a few weeks. How'd you know?"

"You keep glancing at it like it's brand new. It's a little tight, but most would assume from the pregnancy rather than the newness. Plus, when you talk about Danny, your face lights up like a Christmas tree."

"That obvious, huh?"

"Well, I have friends who are profilers in D.C.," Chase explained. "After knowing them a while their method of 'getting to know people' starts to rub off."

"I've heard Danny talk about Oliver," Lindsay said. "He says he's really kind of into you, I guess."

Chase laughed. "Really?"

"Didn't want to stop working, even when he looked like death warmed over, he said. Plus, I saw what he looked like when he thought you died in the cokehouse earlier—like he'd lost his best friend."

"Really." This time the word came out of the investigator's mouth as a short, soft breath. Her eyes began to water a little, and Chase hoped Lindsay didn't notice. "Finding anything?"

"No. I should have known better—Mac's extremely thorough when it comes to collection," Lindsay groused. "But I'll just have one more look at these wounds," she said. "Maybe…"

Chase cringed a little when Lindsay's swab brushed against her torn and sore ankles. "Ouch," she said softly—though not softly enough to escape notice.

"Sorry."

"It's okay. All in the name of catching the bad guy, right?"

"Yeah." Just then Lindsay chortled with joy as she found a few grayish flakes embedded in the left ankle wound. "Yes! I rock!"

"Found some, huh?"

Lindsay carefully set the flakes on a slide and pressed it, then sealed the slide in an evidence bag. "Great. Now I can slip back into the lab with no one the wiser."

The sun was beginning to set, and Chase looked worried. "I'd call for a ride," she said. "Not that I don't think you aren't capable, Lindsay…"

"Yeah. Probably right." Lindsay reached for her cell phone, then panicked a little. "Where is it?"

"Your phone?"

"Yeah. It's always in my pocket…"

"Maybe you left it at the lab?"

Lindsay closed her eyes, running through the events that had led her here. "I did," she realized. "I was so worried about finding a better sample that I forgot it over in trace."

Chase pointed to the phone sitting next to her. "Help yourself."

The CSI picked up the phone and dialed a familiar number. "Danny? It's Lindsay…"

Just then two soft sounds rang out, and the guards outside fell to the floor. "Lindsay, stay on the line," Chase said, struggling to get up.

"Montana?" the investigator could hear a male voice say on the other end of the line. "Oh, thank God. I was worried sick—you didn't pick up…where are you?"

"Danny, I'm with Chase…"

Suddenly the room exploded with people, and the phone was left hanging limply along the side of the bed as the two women were 'escorted' away at gunpoint. "One false move, bitch, and this little one over here doesn't make it," Chase heard a familiar voice hiss into her ear. "Wouldn't want that on your hands, now would you?"

"Let her go," Chase said, glancing over at an inwardly terrified Lindsay. "She's got nothing to do with this."

"On the contrary," her captor chortled. "She's now a part of this, and my buyer's gonna be real happy with me…"

In the now-empty room, Danny's voice could be heard calling over the end of the phone. "Lindsay? Lindsay?! _Lindsay!"_


	16. Chapter 16

**Usual disclaimers.

* * *

**

Danny dropped the kit he'd been carrying out of Duchens's apartment and began to run for the elevator. "Danny, what happened?" Stella asked, her face turning pensive.

"I dunno," he shouted. "But somethin's goin' on over at that hospital," the younger CSI shouted, not bothering to wait for his superior. "Lindsay was talkin' to me, tellin' me she was with that Davis woman, than there was a bunch of talkin' and commotion I couldn't make out in the background…." Danny pounded on the elevator call button, and the door opened instantly. "I gotta find her, Stella…"

The Greek woman deftly slipped into the elevator car as well, having grabbed Danny's discarded kit full of evidence as well as her own. "We'll go back over to the hospital," she said firmly. A second later, she pulled out her cell phone. "Hey, this is Det. Stella Bonasera with the crime lab," she nearly barked into the phone. "I need a report on one of your patients…Chase Davis…I'll wait." Stella tapped her foot impatiently as Danny stared, his ears desperate to hear that both the investigator and his Montana were all right. "Uh huh…how many?! Where is…?" Stella sighed, a deep, mournful sigh. "Call the local PD, tell them we're on our way," she barked. The woman nearly broke her phone as she hung up. Then, looking at Danny with a _look_ that told him things weren't all right, she immediately dialed a familiar number.

"Mac, it's Stella," she said, her nervousness growing over her colleagues' conditions. "There's been an incident up at St. Anne's…Danny and I are on our way, and the local detectives are being called. Mac, Lindsay was there, too. I have no idea why…okay. We'll meet you up there."

"Stella, what happened?" Danny asked.

"There was an attack on Chase Davis at the hospital," Stella said simply.

"An attack? Like what kind? Is she dead? Is _Lindsay_ dead?!"

"We'll find out once we get up there. The nurse said there were two dead bodies near the room, but I know Mac had guards put on the door." Stella's face grew darker by the second. "You get the feeling we're not playing with a full hand here?"

"You mean Oliver and his buddy? I don't get that feelin', Stel," Danny said, his mind too worked up over Lindsay's fate to concentrate on much else.

"No, not them," Stella said, her own thoughts full of worry for the expectant mother and the young woman she'd gone to see. "I get the feeling that there's someone else orchestrating this."

"Then we gotta find 'im, for Lindsay's sake," Danny determined gruffly, almost wishing he could teleport himself to the latest in an ever-growing list of crime scenes.

-----

---_Earlier that afternoon..._---

The old house in Ozone Park had been kept up beautifully, though it was also apparent that no one had occupied the place in years. Mac and Oliver had arrived first, and while Oliver went to talk to the neighbor that had helped Chase escape Mac began to process. As the scientist walked inside, the first thing he noticed was the scattered furniture—_possibly tipped over by her captors while she was escaping,_ he thought. Picking up his camera, he started taking overalls of the scene, going through as many shots as he liked.

Near the stairs, Mac shot stills of the open door near the stairs, the barrier itself having been slightly broken off the hinges. _Broke through as a way to find an exit,_ he reasoned. _We know she was bound—tape residue and cuts on her wrists confirmed that._

The broken window in the small room contained a large hole among the jagged glass, with bits having fallen outside onto the ground only two feet below. Some of the glass shards were embedded into the earth, and there were footprints that had tramped the ground down. Mac took photos of this as well, and counted at least three distinct sets. _She fell to the ground after breaking through the window, and when she got up and ran someone—two someones—chased her across the street._

"Hey, boss," a voice said, and Mac spun as he saw Adam standing nearby. "Where do you want me to start?"

"Take the upstairs. Start with overalls," Mac advised. "This is gonna take a while, Adam, so settle in."

"I know. Hawkes is still at the lab, running something…I can call him, if you want…"

"No. I'll call. But thanks." Mac gave the younger man a small smile, and Adam scurried up the stairs, taking his time. The lab supervisor pulled out his phone and placed a call. "Sheldon? It's Mac. There's been another scene—yeah, that one. You have the address? A few more scattered 'uh huh's' and 'yep's' and Mac hung up. He then took the camera and began moving around the room, exiting out the lone broken door and heading for the kitchen.

----

_Wow,_ Adam thought as he started taking shots of the top of the stairs. _She put up one hell of a fight…_

The young man was taking photos of the hallway, which had a runner down the middle that had been violently thrown backward. A door to the immediate right was slightly ajar, and a door to the left looked as though it had been opened recently. Adam chose the right, and was careful to push the barrier open with one fingertip of his gloved hand.

The room was small, but it contained everything a full bath should—including a bathtub. Inside, the basin was filled with water. Adam could feel the remnants of steam floating off of the liquid, and guessed that it had been drawn several hours ago. _Someone was taking a bath?_ He wondered. Looking around at the scene, he realized that nothing else was damp or wet—not the floor, not the towel folded neatly nearby, nothing. Aiming the camera lens carefully, he took several shots of the room as it was as a way to record the anomaly. He then pulled his kit close and started looking for his can of print powder.

"Finding anything?" a familiar voice asked. Adam looked up to see Mac standing nearby.

"Look at this bathroom. Notice anything about it?"

The supervisor took a cursory glance around the room. "It's not wet, save for the bathtub," he said.

"Yeah. I mean, who draws a bath and then doesn't take it?"

"Chase Davis said in her statement that she was told she would be 'cleaning up' by her captors," Mac supplied. "My guess is they dragged her from the room across the hall towards this one, but she managed to escape before she got inside."

"Then maybe I should start in there," Adam said, grabbing his kit.

"Good idea. Hawkes is on his way—I'll send him over to the house across the street. We'll need prints and samples of any evidence Chase or her attackers might have left."

"And downstairs?"

"I'm covering that," Mac said simply. He frowned.

"Something wrong?"

"It's…nah. Just a thought."

"A penny for it."

Mac smiled. "I'm just thinking…why go to all the trouble of kidnapping a woman if the endgame is to cause a terrorist attack of some sort?"

"Maybe she could identify the players?" Adam mused as the pair walked over to the small parlor room on the left. The younger man immediately began processing the chair that Chase had been bound to nearly twenty hours earlier.

Mac shook his head. "She didn't know any names."

"Maybe she lied?"

Another shake. "I don't think so," Mac replied. "Usually you get the feeling that people from other 'agencies' aren't telling all of the truth, and though there's a little of that here, it doesn't seem to be about anything pertinent to the case. In fact, this group is probably the most open and helpful group I've worked with in a long, long time."

"So, if she's not lying…maybe it's misinformation?"

Mac thought about that a moment. "I'm not getting that feeling either," the seasoned detective-scientist said as Adam plucked fibers and prints off the solid but battered rocker. Both men looked at the entire piece of furniture with expectation, as though it contained the answers to why they seemed to be running in circles.

"Then whoever's pulling the strings on this operation has some serious skills," Adam concluded, shrugging his shoulders.

Mac let that sentiment settle in a moment. "I'm going downstairs," he said. "I've got that window to process."

"Let me know if you need help?" Adam asked. His offer was received with a small smile and Mac's _keep-at-it_ look.

-----

"Poor girl broke through the door like a bull trying to get into a china shop," the elderly woman said, her voice still strong and her mind still sharp. "Thought I'd found some girl escaping an abusive husband for a minute…"

Oliver smiled at that thought. He knew Chase looked pretty bad at the hospital when he'd seen her, and the image of her lying bound on the floor of this house in the dark was one that sat hard with him. "Did she say what had happened?"

"No, young man. Just that she was in 'big trouble.' One look and I believed her."

"What then?"

"I told this all to the police earlier…"

"Mrs. Williams…"

"Everyone here calls me Lady Rachel, son."

"Lady Rachel, Chase is my partner and my friend. What you say to me could help us figure out who was behind taking her in the first place."

"Oh, she said she was working for the government…some hush-hush thing. She wasn't all snippy about it, and plus she was pretty shaken up, so I didn't push."

"The men at the door…did they try to come in?"

"Hmm…" Lady Rachel held her jaw between her forefinger and her thumb—an old habit from her childhood that always preceded deep thought. "I think they might have. I know they knocked on the door once, then a lot of taunting, like bullies on a playground?"

Oliver nodded. "What did Chase do?"

"I gave her my husband's rifle—she said she could shoot it, and it looked like she might need it. I can't shoot it no more, arthritis in my arms…"

"Did she shoot?"

"No. I'd know if that went off. She sent me upstairs to call the police, and I did. Heard some chatter between 'em, but nothing I could make out. Like I said, bullies."

_With explosives and a specially licensed weapon on them,_ Oliver thought. "When did they leave?"

"As soon as the cavalry came. Quick, too."

"Thank you, Lady Rachel."

"Thank _you,_ Mr. Lawrence. I'm just now baking some cookies…do you think…"

Oliver smiled. "I think I'll pass right now, Lady Rachel. But as soon as this is solved, I'll take three dozen."

"I'm holding you to that, young man."

Just then there were footsteps coming up the porch, and Oliver smiled as he saw the familiar face of Sheldon Hawkes edging closer. "Mac said I should process here?" he ventured, a smile on his face.

"Dr. Hawkes, this is Lady Rachel Williams," Oliver said by way of introduction. "Lady Rachel, this man here is going to take some pictures and a couple pieces out of your carpet and dirty up the door to look for prints."

"Makin' a mess just to clean one up, young man?" the woman chided gently.

"Afraid so, ma'am," he said. "But it'll help."

"Then got on with it. Oh, Lord, my cookies…" Lady Rachel hurried to the kitchen as the smell of slightly burning cookies filled the room.

"Cookies?"

"Apparently she still bakes something every day. Was her job for years," Oliver supplied. "She might try to get you to take some—she did me, but I didn't know department procedure on that sort of thing."

Hawkes was impressed. "Wow. Usually the PI's and what not, they take the cookie."

"Not how we work. Though I promised to take three dozen once we solved this case."

"Three dozen?"

"Long story. Let's just say we really, really like cookies."

Hawkes smiled. "I see." The CSI then bent down over the bloodstained carpet and began to work.

Oliver walked back to the primary scene and filled Mac in on the situation. "You could have taken the cookie," the lab supervisor said.

"Yes, but bribery statutes are different from state to state. I didn't want to besmirch the lab's reputation, as I am kind of working for you at the moment."

Mac smiled, shaking his head. "There were at least three people holding Chase here," he said, pointing to two distinct treads in the ground that had trampled over the glass and a third coming around the scene. "She must be quick, to be able to outrun them."

"She is, but I've seen adrenaline and fear do some amazing things in my experience." Oliver stopped dead as he found something shining up at him in the dirt—the sinking rays of the sun had caught it at the right angle. "What's this?" he asked, pointing to the object blinking up at him but not touching it.

Mac also studied the object. "Looks like a key," he said.

"But to what?"

"That's the question we need to answer. Hopefully, it'll lead to a warehouse or somewhere the explosives might be stashed." Mac picked the key up gingerly with is tweezers, he slipped it into an evidence bag and sealed it, locking it in his kit. Just then, his phone rang, the sky behind him fading into twilight.

"Taylor," he answered, and immediately Oliver picked up that something was clearly wrong. "What kind of 'incident'?" There was a pause, and then "She was there?! Are you sure? But why?" Someone chattered for a moment or two, then Mac said, "I'm on my way."

"What was that?" Oliver asked.

"Stay here, help them work the scene," Mac said sternly. "You say you're working for me at the moment? Then stay here until I call."

"What happened, Mac?"

"Something's happened up at St. Anne's. Stella and Danny are just pulling in now, and I'll find out what it is."

"Is Chase all right?"

Mac said nothing as he turned towards the Avalanche.

"Is she all right?!"

Mac then turned as he grabbed the door, opened it, and got in. "I don't know, he said seriously. "But stay here."

Oliver watched as the man pulled off into the night, and the feeling of knots in his stomach tightened fiercely. _Please, God, _he thought. _Not again…_


	17. Chapter 17

**Usual disclaimers.

* * *

**

Lindsay didn't dare to even breathe. Her covered eyes flittered around the dark cabin of the van, desperately trying to determine a way out of this mess. Next to her, she could hear what she thought was Chase's head rolling to and fro on the floor as the van carried the two women out of wherever they were now as fast as it could. The sedative they'd given Chase in the hospital hallway was obviously portioned for one, and for that Lindsay was silently grateful.

"Damn," one of the men said—the one holding some sort of gun or rifle in his hands. "This dame's becomin' more problem than she's worth."

"Says you," said another, a clear edge to his voice. There was something about this man's voice that made Lindsay believe that he was the one in charge. "And now we can keep the cops clear."

"How's that, Monet?" the man with the rifle barked.

"Because no cop would risk a baby's life, especially an unborn one," the driver called from the front. Lindsay noticed he sounded like the group's 'voice of reason' or possibly was just the thinker/planner of the group. Lindsay also noticed that long silence that began to choke at her, and her fear began to rise.

"Wrong place, wrong time, honey," the group's leader said—the man called 'Monet.' Lindsay assumed this man was the same man that they were looking for—Caldwell Duchens. "Bet you're sorry you came to visit _her._" A hand patted against her cheek, and Lindsay tried to shy away from the touch. The blindfold tied across her eyes made it difficult to determine where everything was, but she figured she was seated snugly against the passenger seat of the van.

_I could scream, _she thought. _I could scream, maybe get someone to hear me…_

Lindsay listened again. There were at least four breathing patterns that she could make out, not including her own. The sounds of the weapons the men carried made her shudder a little at the thought of being targeted with one—especially near her abdomen. Her baby gave a tiny kick, and Lindsay's thoughts immediately turned to Danny. _Did you figure it out, Danny? _she wondered. _Are you processing the hospital room even now?_ _Does anyone realize what happened?_

"Seems an awful waste," the driver said.

"What's that?" 'Monet' wondered.

"I dunno. I like kids, I guess."

A thrill of fear raced up Lindsay's spine, and she could hold still no longer. She tried to wriggle towards something—a voice that sounded like it was near a door, the sound of road pavement, anything that might lead to freedom.

"The hell do you think you're going?" one of the men snapped, shoving Lindsay roughly back into her 'corner.'

"You don't…have to hurt me," Lindsay ventured, struggling to keep her voice calm and even. _Showing them fear gives them the advantage,_ she realized. "I-I don't know you…"

An evil fit of laughter rang through the cabin of the van as Lindsay pleaded her case. "Please. Our buyer's looking for some 'insurance,' and though I've never dealt in that shit before, I'd say you and that bitch will do nicely."

"Plus there's the chance she'll talk now," the driver chimed.

"You think?" Monet asked.

"Come on. She let us beat the shit out of her, and that's on top of what those coke fairies did. Maybe now she'll 'loosen up' for the buyer, tell 'im what he wants to hear."

Monet's throated chuckle sent another shiver down Lindsay's spine. "He's got a point," he said evenly, drawing closer to the petite woman's small but extended frame. "Maybe a little 'incentive' is just what she needs." The CSI felt his fingertip tracing down her jawline, as if 'inspecting' her for some reason. "Too bad," he said. "If you weren't already 'occupied' I might have made an exception to my rule on sleepin' with white girls…"

The shudder that traveled down Lindsay's frame was so visible that even the guard at the back door noticed. As the men laughed, Lindsay prayed that her team had gotten the evidence necessary to figure out where they were and get her out of this mess.

-----

The room was empty. Empty, that is, except for a disheveled hospital bed, a phone receiver that hung limply from its cord and rested onto the linoleum tile floor, and a familiar looking forensic field kit. Stella and Danny had had to stop at the threshold of the door and peer in to even get that close—the fresh blood pools of the two officers that had been guarding the entrance remained as a reminder that a crime had been committed in this space.

"There someone in there?" Danny asked, his face matching the panic in his voice.

"No, no one," the Queens officer, Walsh, replied. "We had the ME's office come out for the guards—fuckers," he spat, looking at the ground. "Sorry," he apologized quickly. "It's just, they were friends…especially Ricky…what am I gonna tell his wife?"

"You tell her the truth," Stella said, the empathy showing in her eyes. "That her husband died trying to protect someone, and that we're gonna get the bastards who did this." Clearing her throat, the Greek woman continued. "Who put the call in?"

"The nurses at the station—they were coming 'round to give the Davis woman some more meds when they saw that," Walsh said, pointing at the blood pools. "At first I thought maybe she did it herself—I mean, there's stories about this lady, apparently…"

"Stories?"

"Weird crap," Walsh said. "Like she's some kind of spook or something."

"I highly doubt that."

"Anyway, we saw the room and knew someone left in a hurry, and from the looks of things not of their own accord. I mean, who leaves a toolbox like that just lying around? I've heard you guys up at the lab are pretty anal about that sort of thing…"

"And for good reason," Stella said curtly, taking offense. "Our thoroughness ensures _your_ collars see prison."

"Look, I'm sorry. Like I said, little worked up. In any case, there was also the fat that the nurses all said that the Davis woman had no clothes save hospital ones—she gave all of hers to you guys earlier. They saw the bags that your guys walked out with."

"Okay. Well, I'm going to have to speak to those nurses, especially the one who found the scene and the ones on duty when this happened."

"No problem. We took statements too, if you want 'em…"

"Thanks." Stella then clutched her kit handle and stepped inside where Danny was already processing. "Any luck?"

"I got prints, but I'm betting they're Lindsay's," the CSI said, pointing at the phone. "I haven't got to the bed yet." Danny's eyes were still glued to the white corded phone next to him, staring at it as though his best girl would suddenly appear out of it if he wished hard enough. "Who has the cajones to kidnap a cop?"

"Probably the same ones that kidnapped a PI," Stella said simply, trying not to let her own emotions overcome her. It would be hard enough keeping Danny grounded, and even then she might need help. The woman began to take overalls of the bed and small private room, documenting the mess that had been left behind. "Better question: why was Lindsay out here in the first place?"

"That I think I can answer," Danny said, gently pinching the sealed lid of a clear plastic evidence bag with his thumb and forefinger. The seal was clearly marked with Lindsay's initials and the date on top in black marker. "She came out here looking for something on Chase Davis's person—something she obviously couldn't _wait for…_" Stella knew that the rise in Danny's voice was his attempt at containing his rage and grief. "Dammit, Stella! She _knew _better! Why didn't she wait for us to come back?! Or at least _call_ one of us to come out and look?!"

"Because she must have thought that time was of the essence," a familiar voice said, startling the frantic young man.

"Mac," Danny said. "Tell me we know who did this."

The lab supervisor sadly shook his head. "No. But I have an idea."

"Anythin', Mac." Danny's eyes were pleading.

"Danny, I want you to go out to the scene in Ozone Park," Mac said in his sternest _no-nonsense_ voice. "Stella and I will process here."

"No, Mac, you can't…"

"He's right, Danny," Stella said, trying to reassure him. "Of all of us, you're the most emotionally involved in this."

"I don't have a _right_ to be 'emotionally involved'?!" Danny cried. "If somethin' happens to her, or the baby…"

"Danny," Mac said, stepping slightly outside the door as a signal that the younger man should take his leave. "We are going to do everything we can to see that that doesn't happen. To her or to Chase Davis. Right now her friend Oliver is just as scared and as worried as you are, and he could use the company, if you can't do the job. I understand if you can't."

"Like hell I can't do the job!" Danny spat. The look on his face made his feelings plain—he would obey, but he clearly wasn't happy about the situation. "You call me first, you find anythin'?"

"First call," Stella promised.

"I don't like this."

"Neither do we," Mac said simply. "But we care about Lindsay too. And we'll find her, and the baby."

Heaving a very loud and loaded sigh, Danny picked up his kit and left.

"You had to send him off, Mac," Stella said, noticing the look on her old friend's face. "He's too involved."

"The trouble is, so are we. We've all watched those two evolve into what they are now, and there's not a one in the lab that isn't concerned about that baby."

"True. But we can step away and think like scientists instead of worried lovers or parents," Stella pointed out. She then picked up her printing brush and continued swiping the handrails for any usable prints.

Mac picked up where Danny had left off, studying the evidence bag that Lindsay had left behind. He noticed the large grayish-blue flakes that were inside the tiny bag, and his mind started to wander.

"What's up, Mac?"

"Lindsay's evidence," he said, showing Stella the contents of the bag. "I pulled similar material off of Chase Davis's hands earlier."

"From her fingernails?"

"And the backs of her hands—like she'd been shoved up against the stuff, whatever it is," he replied. "I bet we find it in her clothes too."

"What about it was so important that Lindsay would risk traveling all the way out here, in her condition, just to get it?" Stella wondered.

"Or that she couldn't wait until one of us got back," Mac added. Then his mind went back a little further. "Hey, wasn't she working on that explosive trace earlier?"

"Yeah. With Josh Hollenbeck. Why?"

"Call him. I wonder…"

"You thinking Lindsay might have been onto something?"

"She very well might have been," Mac said simply. "And she might not have realized it."

"Or her attackers didn't," Stella pointed out. She had finished dusting for prints, and was scanning the scene for any fiber or trace evidence. "No sign of a bullet of any kind," she said. "I'd expect to see at least one in the walls somewhere…"

"Maybe they're still inside the DB's," Mac suggested.

"Or maybe…" Stella thought, remembering something. "Didn't Danny say something about Chase Davis having some special kind of gun?"

"Yeah," Mac said, remembering. "Flack said he put a BOLO out on it. Why? You don't think…?"

"Well, the nurses reportedly said they didn't hear any shots—just found the bodies," Stella said, running through her theory. "Chase's gun had a silencer on it, so…"

"I highly doubt she killed the people _guarding_ her, Stella."

"I don't think she did either. But I think her gun might have."

"We've got to find that gun," Mac said. "And find out what Lindsay was onto. I'm beginning to think that she hit onto the tip of something much, much bigger than any of us realize."

-----

The van stopped. Lindsay heard the doors open to the back and the sounds of people shuffling about. Something dragged across the floor of the cabin—_probably Chase,_ she thought—and cried out in fright as something grabbed her ankle.

"Move," a stern voice barked. Cold metal brushed against her arm, and the CSI quietly complied. Soon Lindsay heard echoes as she stood inside what felt like a large room. There were rattles that floated around her, making it seem like she was inside an old warehouse or possibly a large hangar.

"It seems you are capable of direction," the petite woman heard a man saying a short distance away, as though he were speaking to someone else. "Is this the woman responsible for this catastrophe?"

"Nah," she heard another voice say, and this one Lindsay recognized as 'Monet's'. "Some broad that was visiting. Didn't think you wanted witnesses."

"A bullet couldn't have cured that?"

"Hey. I might be what I am, but I'm not that heartless. 'Sides, they come down hard on killin' a pregnant girl…"

"Mmm, yes," the first voice conceded. It sounded to Lindsay like it was cultured, educated—definitely not some common street thug or dealer. She held her breath as she heard heavy footsteps draw closer to her. "Do you have a name, young lady?" it asked.

Lindsay was afraid to say anything. She knew what could happen if these people found out she was law enforcement.

"It's quite all right, child. Come, your name."

"Li-Lindsay," the scared woman stammered, trying desperately to keep her voice smooth and calm.

"Do you have a last name, Lindsay?"

After a deep breath, she said, "Monroe," very softly.

"Hmm. Well, Miss Monroe, welcome. I will see to you shortly. A nasty business, meddling in affairs unknown to someone."

"I-I don't know…"

"Shh, shh," the voice said again. It almost sounded like a woman's, except for a deep note held in the throat. A hand gently stroked her hair, and Lindsay tried to shy away from the touch. "Come, you will go now with these men," the voice said, and a second later Lindsay felt hands touching her shoulders. "Try to struggle, and your meddling friend here will wake up in a world of pain."

The thought of Chase Davis being hurt because of her made the CSI shudder violently. Seeing no other choice, Lindsay complied. She made certain, however, to listen for anything that might give her a clue as to where she was or who was holding her. As she was 'escorted' out of the 'room,' she was able to catch snatches of conversation between 'Monet' and this new voice that had taken control over her.

"Do you have the items I require?" the new voice asked.

"Sure. A thousand pounds of the stuff, guaranteed to level Albany if you set it right," Monet assured the man. Lindsay tried to listen in as several other details were finalized, and then she stopped cold as she heard a shot ring out. The next sound she heard was something fall to the floor with a _thud_ and the shriek of her own voice as she realized what had taken place.

"Quiet, woman," a deep voice growled, roughly shoving her forward. "No crying out, you understand?"

"But…but…" Lindsay was beginning to hyperventilate. The room, darkened by the thick blindfold across her eyes, was starting to spin. There were voices surrounding Lindsay, but she could make out none of them. Soon the only thing she heard was silence as she managed to pass out.


	18. Chapter 18

**Usual disclaimers.

* * *

**

"Get out of the way, jackass!" Danny screamed as he laid on the horn of the Avalanche. "Where'd you get your license, a Cracker Jack box?!"

The sounds of blaring horns also protesting the slow and uncourteous driver began to grate on the CSI's ears. A thousand thoughts were running through his mind, and half of them involved Lindsay being threatened, tortured, or possibly even killed at the hands of some maniac that Danny couldn't identify at the moment, let alone stop. He angrily punched the steering wheel again, then looked up a little sheepishly as the horns now began to blare at _him_.

_Where the hell is she?_ Danny thought furiously. _And what were you doing up there, Montana? _Thoughts of the small evidence bag raced through his mind; the large grayish-blue flakes inside…

_Wait. Grayish-blue…_

Danny hastily spun around and looked in the backseat. His heart nearly leaped when he realized he'd taken Mac's vehicle instead of the one he's shared with Stella. He'd just grabbed a pair of keys that someone had handed out—he wasn't entirely sure which one it had been—and the fact that the Avalanches were somehow parked next to each other had made the mistake an easy one. The vehicle was quickly pulled off onto a side street near the secondary scene and Danny began rifling through the evidence his supervisor had collected off Chase Davis during Mac's earlier visit.

"Prints, fibers, clothes…" he mumbled as he pawed through the sealed clear bags, desperately looking for a clue of some kind that might have lead Lindsay to be up in that hospital room in the first place. He picked up the two large bags that contained Chase's black shirt and jeans, and it was the jeans that made him cry out. "Boom!" he said, his spirits starting to lift a little.

Danny then planned his next course of action. The secondary scene was less than eight blocks away, and there was some information he needed if he planned to put anything together to make what he was about to do pan out.

_Oliver, I hope you're there waitin',_ the CSI thought. _Otherwise this is gonna turn into a solo gig…_

----

"'allo? Ees anyone 'ere?"

"Hawkes? Lindsay?" Flack called out, also worried. He'd seen the lab and its agents all disperse into the field before, but there was usually someone that the detective knew on the floor at all times. "Adam?"

"Detective Flack?" a young woman asked, walking up to the worried cop and the puzzled FBI Special Agent.

"Where the hell is everyone?" Flack asked.

"Oh, they all took off earlier," the young woman said. "In a hurry, too. Apparently there was another scene…?"

"Anothair one?" Josh asked. "Where ees thees?"

The tech shook her head, her long blonde hairs falling dangerously into her eyes. "Somewhere in Queens, I guess…"

Flack pulled out his phone. "Mac," he said after the phone had rung a couple of times. "Where the hell _is _everybody? Me and Agent Hollenbeck are up here at the lab, and there's no one to hand off this evidence…" The detective paused as a calm but forceful voice echoed through the speaker. "She _what?_ Mac, please tell me you're…Jesus."

"What?" Josh asked, the _no-nonsense _tone now creeping into the Frenchman's throat. He clutched the evidence bag as though it contained the Holy Grail.

"Det. Monroe's gone missing," Flack said, the worried look on his face a clear mirror to her thoughts. "and so has your girl Chase. Again."

"These peeple found 'er? Again? Why was I not told of thees?"

"Mac went down to the hospital she was taken to, after she escaped whoever took her in the first place. Most of the others are at that scene now," Flack explained as he relayed Mac's statement. "Now, Mac processed Chase personally, but both he and Stella think that Lindsay went down there to find something else on her and got surprised by whoever was coming after Chase."

"_Mon Dieu,_" Josh breathed, remembering the bubbly young woman he'd been chatting with in the lab only a couple of hours before. "What are we waiteeng for?!"

"I can take that for you, sir, if you like," the blonde tech piped up, having hovered nearby. Both Flack and Josh had been too preoccupied to notice. "Put it through trace and the GCMS?"

Flack eyes the young woman carefully. "What's your name?"

"Molly. Molly Benson."

After a moment, Josh gingerly held out the bag. "Thees ees 'ighest prioritee," the counterterrorism expert said. He also handed over one of his cards. "Eef there ees anytheeng you find peculiair about thees, call at once, _comprenez-vous?_"

"Yes, sir," Molly said, accepting the evidence. She then headed straight for the trace lab with the prize.

"I must tell M. Parker about Mlle. Davis," Josh said. "Eet ees not like the kids to leave 'im een the dark about such theengs."

"Quickly, please," Flack said, thinking about his old friend and what he must be going through. "The sooner we get to that scene, the better."

Josh hastily ran over to the cubicle where Kyle was still deep in thought, working with the building's translator on hashing out the financial records. "Mlle. Davis ees missing," he said, nearly breathless.

--But they found her,-- Kyle signed back. –Safe and sound in Queens. Adam and Dr. Hawkes are there processing the scene…--

"Someone took 'er from the 'ospital, M. Parker," Josh cut in. "They also took Mlle. Monroe as well."

--The pregnant lady?— Kyle's eyes were wide. –Why?—

"Apparentlee she was een Mlle. Davis's room when she was attacked," Josh said. "The perpetrators took 'er too. I am going now to see about thees."

--Where's Oliver?—

Josh shrugged. "At that place een Queens, I expect," he replied.

--He finds out she's gone missing again, he's gonna freak.— Kyle picked himself up and closed his laptop. –I'm coming with you.—

The older man firmly shook his head. –No. I 'ave 'ad to leave some eveedence 'ere, a breek of that exploseeve found een Duchens's apartment. I wish you to see that eet ees 'andled propairly."

"You don't trust the techs?"

Josh pursed his lips a little. "I 'ave a funny feeling, _oui_?"

The look in Josh's eyes sealed it. –All right,-- he said, obviously not pleased but willing to take the agent's direction. –But you call the second you know something, okay?—

"Of coarse."

--Okay. Now, who has this evidence I'm babysitting?—

"A tech woman named Molly." Josh pointed into the trace lab, where the blonde was working diligently on the brick of explosive. "See that that does not escape the building, _oui?_"

Kyle nodded, and walked over to the cubicle as Josh and Flack made tracks for the elevator.

-----

_Shit. That guy's coming over—the deaf one. Don't need working ears to tell that something's not right, and I can't let them find out what I'm about to do. _

Molly looked up at the sandy-haired man's face, waving a little as she did. The man kept a mostly blank expression on his face, but he continued watching Molly as she scraped a sample of the substance off the whole and ran it through the GCMS. "Rough day, huh?" she asked, forgetting for a moment that her new companion couldn't hear her.

The man nodded. –Yes, it has. What are you doing to that now?—

The tech caught the translation, and then said "Running it through mass spec. Need to know if this is just a block of clay or something more sinister…"

A curt nod of the head, and instantly two pairs of eyes watched as the substance was entered into the machine. "That's it," Molly said.

Kyle held out his hand, as if asking for the remaining bag of evidence. –I will keep it with me,-- he said. –No offense, but there's been too many disappearances for one day already.—

"None taken," Molly said, giving up the bag. She watched as Kyle and the translator walked back to the adjacent cubicle, and then continued to pore over more financial records. _Because I don't need that to throw you off course,_ she thought. _Just a few keystrokes, and…_

-----

"Any news?" Oliver nearly pounced on Danny as he arrived, acting as though he was a dying man in desperate need of water.

Danny shook his head. "No, nothin'. Mac and Stella sent me here because I'm 'too involved'."

Oliver's face puckered as though he'd eaten a bushel of lemons. "Mac told me the same thing, more or less," he seconded. "Damn it! I feel pretty useless, just standing here…"

"What's everyone else up to?"

"Dr. Hawkes is processing the house across the street—the one where Chase managed to beat the dealers off," Oliver explained. "Adam's inside right now working on the house they kept her in, here," he added, pointing to the old frame house.

Danny nodded. "There's somethin' I gotta see about, and then I'm makin' a run to the lab. You up for a ride?"

"Should we leave?"

"I can't sit around here and do nothing. My wife, my kid…"

"I know the feeling." Oliver paused a long moment, and then said, "I'm in. Go on up and I'll start the truck."

Danny tossed him the keys to the Avalanche. "I'll just be a sec," he promised, racing inside the house.

"Danny," Adam said upon seeing his friend enter the upstairs parlor. "Thank God—people are comin' and going around here like…I don't even know…"

"Not stayin' long, Adam," Danny told his friend. "Listen, was there any kind of grayish trace anywhere in this place?" The older CSI held up the evidence bag containing the black jeans Chase Davis had worn, pointing to a large gray smudge across the seat and the back of the legs.

"A-actually, yeah," Adam said, pulling out a couple of shots and pointing to the battered rocking chair. "That stuff was all over the seat of the chair there—kinda like clay, almost?"

"That ain't no clay, Adam," he said. "You mind if I take the chair?"

"I, ah…"

"You took overalls and individual shots of the thing, right?"

"Yeah…"

"And you collected the trace off of it, right?"

"Of course."

"Then I'll ask again—can I take the chair?"

"I…I guess so…"

"Thanks, Adam. I'm headin' off to the lab." Danny grabbed his prize and quickly headed for the stairs, gritting his teeth as he had to be careful easing the chair down the stairs. Once outside, he and Oliver managed to shove the object into the back of the Avalanche and sped off.

"Care to explain exactly what we're about to do, before I get arrested or something and you get worse?" Oliver said.

"We're goin' after our ladies," Danny said.

"And the chair?"

"Our starting point," the CSI said by way of an explanation.


	19. Chapter 19

**Usual disclaimers.

* * *

**

She moved her head slightly, fighting off an intense fog that clouded her eyes and threatened to choke off her brain if she would only let it. "Wh-What 'appened?" she drawled, her voice coming out only as a sort of whisper. She tried to pick up her head, and the overwhelming 'weight' of it made her lay it back down onto the soft, squishy object underneath her.

"Chase? Is that you? Hey, are you okay?" she heard a voice ask her. It was light, an almost happy voice if it were not for the foreboding that was laced thickly within it. "Come on now, wake up…"

"Not again," Chase murmured, her drawling voice now beginning to grate on her nerves. She didn't normally talk like that. "Damn."

"Again?" the light voice asked.

"Doped. What was it, chloroform? Anesthetic?"

"I…I don't know. They had it with them, in a syringe…"

Chase's eyes began to slowly clear, and now the light voice was accompanied by a blurred figure that hunched over her face—at first glance it looked like a hippie version of Grimace from the old McDonald's commercials she'd seen as a kid, with long bright hair sprouting out on top where a pair of huge white eyes should have been. "Wh-where are we?"

"I don't know." A sigh escaped the Grimace-like person's throat, one full of fear and worry. "It sounded like an old warehouse, or a hangar of some kind, but now I'm not so sure."

"Sounded?" Chase attempted to at least sit upright—lying helpless was not something she liked to do in normal situations. "You…you couldn't see?"

"N-no, I was blindfolded…"

Chase heaved a deep sigh. "Shit."

"There's cameras, watching us," the voice said. The investigator wished that her eyes would focus and she could get a look at the person trying to tend to her. She felt hands guide her to an upright position as she fought the effects of the drugs, and prop her against a wall or low shelf of some kind.

"You try the door?"

"It's locked. Made of steel, reinforced, and I counted three locks being thrown."

"Pre…pretty specific," Chase said, closing her eyes against the soft light that bathed the room.

"Hey, it's my job to know these kinds of things," the voice said.

"Li…Lindsay, right?" the younger woman asked.

"Yeah," the light voice said, and Chase willed her eyes to focus. The Grimace-like creature began to vanish as the fog inched away from her field of vision ever so slowly, and the face of a petite but heavily pregnant woman in a giant purple top and black jeans began to appear. "Are you all right?"

"Nothing a vacation in Italy won't fix," Chase said lightly, trying to make a joke.

"I'm serious."

"Yeah, me too." Chase took in a couple of deep breaths to steady herself—her stomach was starting to protest the remnants of the drugs used to overpower her. "I remember you on the phone with your husband, then a couple of shots, then nothing. Black curtains."

"They shot you up with something," Lindsay supplied. "I'm not sure what, though…"

"Doesn't surprise me. The shooting me up, I mean," Chase quickly amended when she saw the perturbed look on her companion's face. "What else do you remember?"

"They had a huge gun, couldn't tell what it was right off, and told me they'd shoot you if I didn't cooperate," Lindsay continued. "They also pointed it at me a couple times…"

"The baby," Chase realized. Lindsay nodded.

"Yeah. Before I knew it I was in a stairwell, then they blindfolded me and shoved me down the stairs and into a van or truck of some kind."

"The people—what do you remember?"

"One of them called themselves 'Monet'," Lindsay recalled. "I-I think he was the leader, and maybe the Caldwell Duchens we've been looking for."

"Terrific," Chase cursed under her breath. "Got snatched by the same idiots I ran from earlier this morning. God!"

"It's not your fault."

"But now you're here, and _here_ is the last place you should be," Chase argued. Looking around at the sparse room, she said aloud, "The hell is this?"

"I don't know," Lindsay admitted. Chase's eyes took in the sight of the steel door the CSI had mentioned, danced over the high, pale cream walls that surrounded them. A pair of undressed twin beds lay side-by-side, separated by only a small pathway of concrete flooring. Each bed had a strange looking U-bolt attached to the crossbar in the footboard, one that currently seemed to be out of service. A small whirring sound caught Chase's attention, and her bright green eyes took in the sight of the camera that was trained on the pair of women.

"Live and in living color," she quipped. The investigator moved to rise to her feet, but her limbs were still suffering from the effects of the drugs and not willing to cooperate. "Temporary or permanent?" she asked.

"Hopefully temporary," Lindsay said. Her own mind was still processing the events that had led her to this place.

"The drugs?"

"That too," the CSI said softly.

-----

"Robert, please be sure to clean that mess up out there. I would hate to be set back due to the sudden departure of our supplier friend."

The assistant quickly nodded at his employer, who was already heading for his private offices within the building, and issued orders for the corpses to be removed at once. "Somewhere inconspicuous," he added, leaning in to the head steward of the house.

"I know the place, sir," the steward replied. "We can make it look like an 'accident', if you like…"

"No, that won't be necessary, Francis," Robert said simply. "Too much attention and things will go badly for Mr. O'Brien."

"Of course, sir," Francis said, and quickly set to work.

Robert then followed O'Brien's path to the secluded areas of the building nestled just outside of New York City, near the Hamptons. He brooded over what to do next about the meddlesome woman and her friend, a poor soul who looked like she was just in the wrong place at the wrong time. Before he knew it, he was knocking on O'Brien's door, wishing to tell his employer of the status in their operation.

"I trust the situation is taken care of?" the portly man asked, settling into one of several specially designed chairs that were built to support his weight.

"For the moment, sir," Robert said. "The women are under lock and key, the, um, 'incident' is being disposed of, and our experts are beginning the final planning stages."

"Good, good, very good," O'Brien chortled, emitting a high-pitched laugh. After a moment, O'Brien cleared his throat and said, "I would like to speak with this woman that has been causing us trouble as soon as possible. What do we know about her?"

"Our unfortunate friends said that her name was Chase Davis," Robert supplied. "I did a little checking on her, and she's got a few dots on the radar but nothing I can solidify as far as a background."

"Dots?" O'Brien asked. "Could she be turned?"

"With all respect, sir, it's hard to say."

"Then I must speak with her at once. Please prepare her and bring her in here for our 'chat'."

"Certainly, sir," Robert said. "And her friend?"

"Ah, yes. Miss Monroe." Robert watched his employer close his eyes and settle back into the plush chair, the ghost of a smile hinting on his lips as he enjoyed the comfortable seat. "She may yet be useful to us."

"Sir, I hate to point this out, but she is expecting."

A thoughtful look crossed O'Brien's face. "I agree. Let us make her as comfortable as possible for the meantime, but do run a background on her as well. I wish to know more about this young woman—perhaps she might be good 'insurance' against future 'mishaps'."

The thought of harming the woman made Robert's throat close up a little, but he knew the consequences if he did not obey. "I'll start that check and prepare Miss Davis for your meeting," he said, tipping his head in his customary signal for announcing his exit.

O'Brian continued to settle back into his chair and absently tapped on the large calendar that adorned the mahogany desk. On it a single date was circled in red—a date that was now nearly two days away.

-----

Lindsay watched as Chase had fallen back to sleep in her seated position. _I can't imagine, being prisoner three times in three days,_ she thought to herself. _No wonder she's exhausted!_

As Chase slept, Lindsay struggled to pick herself up from the floor, having to finally flip onto her knees and push herself up using the bed as a leverage point. One she was standing upright, she walked over to where the camera loomed high above her reach and began to stare at it. _What's so important about us?_ she wondered. _Or are we getting in the middle of something—like perhaps the planning of an attack on the city?_

Her thoughts were interrupted when she heard the click of the door's locks flip open and saw several large men file inside. Lindsay stood still, her eyes dancing over the barrel of a rather unique looking gun that one of the men carried.

"You like this, miss?" a short man asked, raising the weapon a little. "It is rather ingenious—a mind who can conceive a device such as this…"

"What do you plan to do with it?" Lindsay asked, finding her voice.

"Why, nothing. Nothing, that is, if you and your friend Miss Davis are willing to cooperate."

"Cooperate?" Lindsay didn't like the sound of that.

"Yes, Miss Monroe, cooperate." Nearby, Lindsay heard the sounds of Chase being roused and pulled to her feet. There were muffled protests and the CSI winced as Chase took a sharp blow to the face for resisting.

"Where are you taking me?" Chase cried, the drugs still working their effects on her. She stumbled as she was forced ahead of her keepers, and Lindsay wanted nothing more than to go over and help her.

"Where _are _you taking her?" the petite woman demanded.

"Merely to be dressed and have a 'chat' with my employer. Nothing more." The little man then turned, as if mulling over an afterthought. "Come," he said, curling a finger at Lindsay. Instantly two 'guards' took her by the arms and led her out of the room. "I think I can find a better accommodation for you, miss," he said. "Wouldn't want anything to happen to you, in your condition."

Lindsay was dragged down a deep crimson hallway, far from the path that Chase was being forced to take. After passing several doors, the little man swung one open and 'ushered' his 'guest' inside. "I trust these quarters could be more to your liking?"

The woman said nothing. "I'll take that as a yes," her host said.

"What about Chase?"

"She'll be seen to," the man promised. A small part of Lindsay worried that she would never see the woman again. "If she behaves, I might bring her back here. A woman in your condition should be taken care of, and she should do nicely."

The thoughts that raced through Lindsay's mind were endless. More than anything, she wished that someone would figure out where she was and come to get her out of here.


	20. Chapter 20

**Usual disclaimers.

* * *

**

"Okay. I get how the trace evidence on the chair is going to help, but can I have the _why_ one more time?" Oliver asked.

Danny looked at the investigator like he was from Mars. "I'm bettin' whatever your friend Hollenbeck found with Lindsay'll have somethin' unusual to it," he began. "Some weird kind of explosive or ingredient to this…_thing_ that'll lead us at least back to the people who took 'em."

"Which explains why Lindsay would have ventured out there by herself," Oliver realized finally as he helped Danny lift the large rocking chair out of the generous-sized elevator. "Okay, _now_ I kind of get it..."

The two hurriedly took their find into layout, where Danny meticulously hovered over every inch of seat and splinter of wood looking for the 'link' he was desperate to find. "Boom!" he said, finally spying a thin swipe of something grayish along the armrests. The substance was so thin that it took magnifying glasses to find within the battered wood. "Hand me a swab, will ya?"

Oliver handed over the giant Q-tip, watching as the older man ran his evidence through the mass spectrometer. Danny then pulled up the findings that Lindsay had discovered earlier and compared them. "They're a match," he cried triumphantly.

"Amazing," Oliver said. "How can you tell?"

"See those peaks there?"

Oliver's eyes followed Danny's finger toward the screen, where he found small peaks of nitroglycerin and gunpowder among the explosive compound's makeup. "Whoa," he said. "Someone's really not kidding here."

"They dyed 'em blue," the CSI added. "Good for us—makes it easier to trace."

"Okay, so now we know that Lindsay's find wasn't all for nothing—in fact, she was on to something," Oliver reasoned.

"Hand me those bags," Danny said, pointing towards the evidence bags containing Chase's clothes. Turning on the light table, he laid out the dark shirt and jeans to try and get a closer look. "There's more of that explosive here, on her pants," he pointed out, staring at a point on the seat of the garment.

"Was she _sitting_ on it?"

Danny stared at the evidence, trying to determine that very thing. "I don't think so," he said finally. "More like someone transferred it onto her by maybe shoving her or somethin'."

"The question is, where?" Oliver wondered. He fell silent a moment. "Where did it come from?"

Both men stared at the evidence before them, looking as though they were lost in a puzzle with only half the pieces. "What else is it telling us?" Oliver murmured, looking at the battered and soiled garments as though they were the key to finding their owner.

"There's stains all over this thing," Danny said as he began running an ALS light over the black cloth. "Looks like blood here…"

"Probably from the coke dealers," Oliver reasoned. He watched as Danny took a sample and prepared it for DNA.

"Or from our explosives friends."

"Wouldn't that be nice," the investigator said half-derisively. "A break for once…"

"Hey! My family's out there too!"

Oliver stared at the angry man. "I know. I'm sorry. It's just…I feel pretty helpless right now…"

"I'd like to wring the bastard's neck that took Lindsay," Danny said, his expression only seconding the idea. "But first we gotta _find _'em…"

A sigh escaped Oliver's lips. "I want to retrace the steps again," he said. "You know, walk over the scenes one more time…"

"I'll lock this up and then we'll go," Danny replied, making doubly sure to handle the chain of evidence right. "Maybe you're onto somethin'…"

------

Kyle's eyes flickered over towards the glass cubicle where the tech he'd spoken to—Molly—was diligently working. He then focused his gaze on the mound of grayish substance that Josh had brought up from the Duchens apartment scene. _Who the hell keeps this stuff in their apartment?_ he wondered. _It's like asking to be found out…_

The financial records were a jumble of confusion. The bankers overseas were not exactly 'helpful' when it came to easy-to-read statements, and it took a while to figure out the dozens of account numbers that kept popping up in Duchens's files.

_Someone's had a drop in business,_ Kyle realized. The withdrawals were for living expenses, among other things, but there didn't seem to be a steady increase in deposits—not for at least two years. _Explosives not a hot item? Somehow I doubt that…_

Just then a credit appeared on the statement—one for nearly ten million dollars. _Okay,_ the investigative analyst wondered. _What just went through? And more importantly, why? _Kyle remembered Josh's theory about there being a 'demonstration' of some sort to be 'held' in the city, but…_ten million dollars worth?_ he mused.

Nearby, Molly worked hard, typing furiously into the computer. She found the access point to her creditor's banking statements. Instantly she unleashed a virus that destroyed the bank's system, and not one but two computer screens in the lab instantly went blank. Next door, she heard a strange, strangled cry emit from the sandy-haired man.

_Good,_ she thought. _Last thing I need is him 'stumbling' onto how I got rid of the ex-husband…_

Molly watched as Kyle took deep breaths, tried to calm himself, and slowly refocused his attentions onto the computer. She saw him strike a few keys and pull up some strange program from his personal system that she couldn't quite make out. _Shit! _she thought. _He's tracing the virus?! Damn! He's better than I thought…_

-----

"Welcome, my dear," a high-pitched voice said evenly, by way of greeting. "I trust you, ah, 'slept well'?"

"Where's Lindsay?" Chase asked, struggling to keep her own voice even. She wriggled a little in the plush high-backed red velvet chair, her back painfully shoved against her bound hands The clothes she'd been given to wear were beginning to itch in places she couldn't reach.

"There will be a time for questions, Miss Davis," the man said, waving a dismissive hand in the air. "But, to satisfy this one small query, I will tell you—Miss Monroe is being cared for. There is no need to panic."

A deep sigh escaped Chase's lungs. "What do you want?"

"I am a rather curious man."

"I am a rather curious woman," the investigator replied. _I can play mind games too, pal. Just give me enough to work with…_

The sound of a sharp slap echoed off the dark paneled walls of the large room, and Chase's face winced in pain. "I would watch that tongue of yours, miss," the man in front of her snapped. "Though you may not care for your own well-being, I would hate to think of Miss Monroe suffering a much…_graver…_ loss?" A pair of jet-black eyebrows lifted questioningly, sending a chill down Chase's spine that the younger woman worked hard to conceal.

"You bastard."

"Why, what a compliment. Truly."

"What do you want?"

"I would very much like to know what possessed you to be near the site of my purchase arrangement several days ago," the portly man replied.

"Bad timing?"

"Ah. Wit. A most pleasant form of resistance, though completely useless." Chase heard footsteps shuffling across the stiff crimson carpeting and before she could cry out the prick of a needle assaulted her neck. "Sodium pentothal," the investigator vaguely made out as the black-and-red room began to spin. "A rather high dosage, I might add."

Chase's face began to slacken, and her head began to droop. Suddenly she felt very disoriented and tired. "No. I won't," she mumbled, trying desperately to fight off the drugs. "Can't…can't fight a girl fair, huh?"

"I was raised not to fight at all, Miss Davis," her 'host' said simply, though half the sentiment was lost through her drug-induced state. "There are…well, let us say _other_ ways of gaining information."

"Like threatening a pregnant woman's life and unborn child?" Chase drawled as the drugs continued their assault. "She's got no-nothing to do with this."

"That's probably true."

"Then why not let her go?"

"Ah, ah, ah," the round man clucked, shaking a finger in a _tsk-tsk_ manner. "I said that now was not the time for you to ask questions. One more, and Miss Monroe will suffer for it."

"You lie."

"Do I?" Chase heard the sound of fingers snapping, and she could just make out the sound of her 'host's' voice telling a lackey of some kind to 'see to the lady.'

"N-no," she said finally, cursing herself. "W-wait."

"Yes?"

"Don't. Leave…leave her alone." Chase's eyes were beginning to grow heavy, and her lids fell shut more than once. "What do you…what do you want?"

"I want the truth, Miss Davis. And you're going to tell it to me."


	21. Chapter 21

**Usual disclaimers.

* * *

**

_Damn. This is taking longer than I thought. _

Kyle stared into his laptop, watching as one of his patented tracking programs fought and clawed its way through the banking system he'd been tracing. Usually the program had an answer in a matter of minutes, but the tech assumed that security was tighter now on certain 'tax shelter' banks that existed overseas.

_Still, two hours? This program usually has an answer for me within about thirty minutes. _Kyle looked up at the ceiling, stretching out his tired muscles. He was starting to fatigue a little—the effect of running on no sleep for nearly three days now. The investigator spun his head around the glassed-in cubicles slowly, taking in the sight of dozens of forensics techs busily processing bits of evidence or information.

His head stopped a minute when he saw a particular woman busily typing into a computer. _I'll go have a look at what she's up to,_ Kyle thought to himself as he saw the translator settle in his chair for a quick nap. _What was her name again? Miranda…Megan…Molly. That's it. Molly. _

Allowing the computer to continue running its program, Kyle managed to make use of the codes Adam had left him for the lab's system. He started working a trace on the young woman's activities—there was something not right about her. It wasn't anything he could prove or put his finger on, but it was a feeling he had and it didn't sit well with him. She had been typing into her computer for as long as he had been into his, and Kyle knew that eventually she would have to stop and sit up or take a breather. She never seemed to stop, not even for a second.

_What are you up to, Miss Molly? _he wondered. _And are you up to any good?_

-----

"Okay. So you wanted a walk-through. Why start here?" Danny was a little perplexed as he and Oliver stood in the now sanitized and deserted alley where the case had originally began. "I mean, we've gone through all the evidence from here at least six times, and got the same answer every time—two deals collidin' and a turf war that turned ugly."

"Yes. But now we have names."

"Right, right—Duchens. Jackie Chan find anythin' on him?"

"His name's Kyle, Danny. Must've hurt, huh?" Oliver smiled a little as the investigator began pacing the alley, running through the scenario in his head.

"One minute I'm tryin' to get him off the computer and the next I'm starin' into space with a fresh set of bruises. Where'd he learn that, anyway?" The CSI was watching as Oliver paced, confident in his collection and analysis of the evidence from three days ago.

"Chase."

"Really?"

"Kyle's good at a lot of things, but he can't hit the broad side of a barn when it comes to shooting," Oliver explained. "About three years ago she decided he needed to learn some self-defense, and what she couldn't show him she asked a friend of ours to teach him. He's a quick learner."

"I'll say. I think I mighta broke somethin'…"

"Hey," Oliver said, growing serious. "Okay, so we know that the deal was going down here. But why here?"

"What d'ya mean?"

"I mean, if I'm trying to move specialized explosives, why am I doing it out in the open? Why not a warehouse or an apartment or even an abandoned building—gives me privacy to conduct business." Oliver looked at the buildings that surrounded the alley. "What's in these?"

"Chinese restaurant on the left, and a specialized bodega on the right," Danny said. "Nothin' out of the ordinary for the area."

"There was a reason it was done here, Danny," Oliver said. "I've never seen such a deal take place out in the open. There has to be a secondary area that Duchens and his crew were planning to make the buy at."

"Ideas?" The thought of Lindsay being kept with a store of explosives made Danny's heart race a little.

The investigator was staring off into space a moment. "Hey, earth to Oliver," Danny catcalled, trying to snap the man out of his trance. "Sooner we find Montana, sooner we find your girl…"

"The key," Oliver said suddenly.

"Key? What key?"

"Mac found it, at the second house in Ozone Park," Oliver began. "It was under the broken window---some sort of a skeleton-type key…"

Danny's mind floated back to the evidence he and Oliver had unloaded at the lab. "I don't remember no key…Mac must still have it."

"We've got to have it. I think we might figure out where the explosives are, at least, if we do. Skeleton keys aren't that common anymore, I don't think…"

"They're not in the city," Danny confirmed. "Not too much nearby, either."

"Question is, how do we get it?" Oliver wondered. "Mac's already told both of us to steer clear…"

"Of our girls' case, not the explosives," Danny reasoned, pulling out his phone. "Hey, Mac, Danny…listen, you still have that key you found at the Ozone Park scene?" After a pause, the New Yorker said "Great! Listen, Oliver and I think that it might lead us to the explosives Lindsay was trackin', so, ah…okay. See you in a bit."

"What's going on?" Oliver asked.

"We're headin' back to the lab. Mac and Stella finished up at the hospital, and he's got the key with him."

"Terrific," Oliver said with a small smile. "Now we're getting somewhere."

----

Lindsay began to pace the confines of the well-furnished, ornate room that was acting as her prison. It had been ages since the men keeping them had taken Chase for a 'chat,' and the CSI began to worry if she too would befall the fate of their previous keepers.

Suddenly the thick ebony door opened, and Chase Davis fell in a heap just inside the door. She cried out as her left side connected with the floorboards, and the woman glared at the men who had so thoughtlessly shoved her inside.

"Be glad it was not worse, Miss Davis," the little man who'd put Lindsay in this room said simply. "My employer is most displeased."

"Then why doesn't he just shoot me?" Chase retorted.

"Perhaps in time. You may yet be useful."

The look on Chase's face said she planned otherwise.

The little man then turned towards Lindsay. "My apologies, Miss Monroe. My employer now wishes a word with you as well."

"M-me?" Lindsay stuttered slightly.

"Yes. If you would, please, follow me…" The man turned out toward the hall, fully expecting Lindsay to comply with his request. The young woman stared at her companion, who had a look of pure contempt on her face. Chase slowly shook her head, then slightly tipped it towards the hall. Lindsay figured it meant that she should follow, but not to reveal anything of importance.

The expectant woman slowly complied, and Lindsay found herself accompanied by two 'escorts' on either side of her as she was led down a series of maze-like halls, culminating in a giant corridor that led to an enormously large, well-furnished room.

"Miss Monroe," the high-pitched voice said, greeting her as though she were an old friend. "Please, sit."

Lindsay eyed the plush velvet chair warily. She worried that she might be bound to it or that it might contain a trap designed to keep her in place.

"Come, child, it is just a chair," the man said, his face placid and almost warm. "I merely wish to speak with you a bit."

"Why?" Lindsay asked.

"I find it rather odd," the man began. "By all accounts you know nothing of Miss Davis—she admits she met you only today—and yet my sources tell me you seemed most interested in her."

"W-why is that odd?" Lindsay struggled to keep her voice from shaking.

"Because, my dear. You are aware of Miss Davis's profession?"

"Not…not really." _Play slightly dumb, Montana,_ the woman could hear Danny hissing into her ear. _Give 'em enough to be happy but nothin' of value. Make 'em think you're cooperatin'._

"I see." The man's face twitched slightly, and it made Lindsay uncomfortable. She quickly glanced on either side of her and found her escorts standing nearby. _I can't even get out of the chair anyway,_ she thought with dark amusement. _Price of having a baby…_

"Wh-what are you going to do to me?" she asked.

The round man paused, studying Lindsay with what she assumed was an almost appraising eye. "If Miss Davis cooperates, nothing. You and your child will be perfectly fine."

Lindsay didn't like the sound of that. Suddenly an intercom buzzer sounded on the man's desk, and he pressed a button. "Yes, Robert?"

"There's something you need to know, sir. About our 'extra guest'."

"Send it in, Robert." As the little man came in with a file folder Lindsay's stomach grew nauseous and her determination solidified.

_I won't help you destroy this city,_ she decided. _I won't…_


End file.
